“Is it sending forces?”
“Yes. They should arrive in two days, if the weather—”
“How many?”
The elder shifted, as though not accustomed to being interrupted. “Two thousand will be at your disposal, providing we can come to an agreement. Our Ruling Council assigned me to negotiate with you.”
“Negotiate?” Atortarho glared. “I offered to split Standing Stone territory equally between our peoples. There’s nothing else to negotiate. Either your Ruling Council wishes to accept, or it doesn’t.” But a vague unease went through Atotarho. If two thousand Mountain warriors were on their way here, the situation could rapidly deteriorate. After today’s battle, he estimated that he would have perhaps nine hundred warriors left. If Wenisa wanted, when he arrived, he could turn his forces on Atotarho’s.
“With respect, Chief,” Wasa said. “Your offer of half the territory was enough to get us to send warriors, but not enough to guarantee our full support.”
From the corner of his vision, Atotarho saw his warriors launch a shimmering wave of arrows into the morning sunlight. He gritted his teeth, longing to watch, but kept his attention on the messenger.
“I see. What would be enough?”
Wasa took a moment to watch the volley strike Bur Oak Village. Screams, shouts, and cheers rose.
“Should we decide to give you our full support, the Mountain People’s Ruling Council will wish to have your full support in return.”
“My full support to do what?” Atotarho gripped his walking stick, ready to strike the old hunchback if he didn’t get to the point.
Wasa straightened slightly, as though sensing Atotarho’s patience was at an end. “Just as you wish to completely destroy the Standing Stone nation, we wish to obliterate the Landing People. After we’re finished helping you here, we ask that you lead your army back to the Landing villages and help us wipe them from the face of Great Grandmother Earth. In exchange, we will give you half of their territory.”
He needed time to consider the ramifications of such an arrangement. “When do you require an answer to this request? My Ruling Council—”
“Perhaps we are mistaken.” Wasa tilted his head as though he knew he was being toyed with. “We have heard you have supreme control of the Hills nation. The Ruling Council merely advises you. Is that wrong?”
Atotarho’s livid expression must have worried the elder, for the old man’s eyes narrowed to slits. With deadly softness, he said, “I have control.”
“Then, since you do not have to send a message to your Ruling Council seeking permission for this agreement, we require an answer immediately.”
Atotarho took a new grip on the head of his walking stick. The impudence was stunning! Not only that, it would outrage the Ruling Council if the Hills army destroyed the Standing Stone nation today, and no longer needed the Mountain People’s help. Chief Wenisa would arrive expecting to be awarded half the Standing Stone territory for coming as he’d asked, and Atotarho would be forced to give it to him, lest Wenisa turn his army on Atotarho’s decimated forces.
Which the greedy fool might do anyway once he sees that his forces greatly outnumber mine.
Cheers echoed from across the valley, high-pitched, pounding the air. Atotarho kept his gaze on Wasa’s.
“Tell your Ruling Council its offer is acceptable.”
Wasa bowed deeply and smiled. “Then our army will be at your service.”
Wasa backed away and hobbled toward four men Atotarho had not seen before. They stood just on the other side of his personal guards, carrying the litter that must have borne Wasa here.
Atotarho watched the old man climb onto the litter, then his bearers carried the old man off toward the trail to the west.
He turned back to the battle. The Bur Oak palisade was on fire in several places. Warriors scurried along the catwalks dumping water onto the flames. Every drop brought them closer to destruction.
A low laugh shook Atotarho.
No matter how many warriors he lost today, with the two thousand that he’d instructed Kelek to send back to him, and the two thousand Mountain warriors already on their way … the Standing Stone nation would soon be nothing but a despicable memory.
Thirty-eight
Clusters of black willows and yellow birches whiskered the slope in front of Hiyawento and Towa, running like a rumpled blanket down to Shookas Village. In the late afternoon light, the windblown branches created a vista of constant movement where shadows leaped and danced across the hills. Fortunately, the forest fire had not reached here. This was the first time since dawn that Hiyawento had been able to get a breath of fresh air into his ash-choked lungs.