They’d waited until just after midnight, long enough that many of the horsemen had taken to their blankets, enjoying one last night in the api. The tents would stay, Gwenna figured, judging from the fact that no one had bothered to take them down. Maybe a few score of the old, young, and infirm would stay with them, looking after the temporary city while the rest of the nation pushed hard for the border. That push had Gwenna worried. She’d seen the pace Long Fist’s riders set when crossing the steppe, when they’d been burdened with supplies and prisoners. Gwenna would have preferred to wait until more of the Urghul were asleep, but hours wasted now might prove crucial later, and so she found herself moving through the camp, stolen sword held flat against her leg, trying to look everywhere at once without moving her head.

As promised, Annick had managed to kill the young warriors guarding their tent. As hoped, they’d managed to slip unnoticed into the night. And as feared, they had to traverse a camp that spanned the better part of a mile before they could even think about stealing horses. Gwenna’s instinct was to hug the shadows, darting from tent to tent, using the darkness and her own slarn-sharpened vision to avoid as many people as possible. Annick shared the impulse, and for a while they crept forward, a few paces here, a few paces there, until Pyrre shook her head in irritation.

“I’m not sure what they teach you on your secret island hideaway, but this isn’t going to cut it.”

“We haven’t been seen yet,” Gwenna hissed.

“It’s not us I’m worried about them seeing,” Pyrre said. “It’s the four deceased Urghul with arrows in their necks we left stuffed behind the api. Once they’re found, our nighttime stroll is going to get a lot less leisurely.”

“If we’re seen—” Annick began, but Pyrre was already stepping brashly out of the darker shadows into the center of the muddy lane running between the tents. Without a glance over her shoulder, she tossed her hair, shrugged her shoulders, then set out at a brisk walk.

“Fuck,” Gwenna said, glancing over at Annick.

The sniper’s lips tightened. “Fuck,” she agreed tersely, then followed the older woman into the lane.

The Skullsworn’s approach worked surprisingly well; they didn’t have to kill anyone for at least a hundred paces. Between the darkness and the chaos of a military camp getting ready to move out, most people were so intent on their own business that they didn’t look twice at three figures moving purposefully through the greater gloom. Pyrre had slipped into something like the Urghul saunter, and she made no effort to hide her face, or shy away from the Urghul they passed. No one challenged them. No one bothered with a second glance.