People of the Black Sun(11)

“Did you cast your voices for a new war chief?”

Negano seemed slightly confused by the change of topic. “No, we decided that our warriors need the night to calm down and be able to consider their choice.”

“Since we are on the war trail, it is within my rights as Chief to appoint that position, is it not?”

“Of course.” Negano nodded. “Your warriors may not be happy about that, but—”

“I could care less what makes them happy. They are warriors. It’s their duty to obey me. How many wounded and dead do we have to slow us down?”

Negano braced his hands on his hips and seemed to be thinking about it. “We don’t have an exact number yet, but I would say around two hundred wounded, and we’re carrying around one hundred dead. At your order, we left the rest of our dead relatives on the battlefield to become homeless ghosts.”

The resentment in Negano’s voice was clear. Atotarho ignored it and tucked his hands beneath his cape to keep them warm. “What is your personal opinion of the trail we should take to hunt down our enemies?”

Negano blinked, hesitated. “Most of us agree that if we must do this, we should follow the trail that runs on the north side of the Forks River.”

“Why the north side?”

“Because, my Chief, our enemies are smart enough to correctly fear that you have already dispatched thousands of warriors to destroy their home villages in punishment for their actions today. They will try to get home as quickly as they can—that means running the trail on the south side of the Forks River.”

Negano crouched down and extended his hands to the flames. Wind flipped his long hair around his face. “For part of the way—at least for tomorrow—the trail runs just below the northern river bluff, which means they won’t be able to see us as we get into position to ambush them.”

“Where will we cross back to the south side?”

“The Seagull Shallows. The river narrows there, and Traders from a variety of nations cache canoes at the narrows. The last time I was there more than fifty canoes were hidden in the brush, but I have seen as many as one hundred there.”

“Let us assume there will be fifty canoes. If we can average six warriors in each canoe, that’s three hundred warriors crossing each trip—”

“Not exactly,” Negano interrupted, and looked as though he instantly regretted it—which he should have. Interrupting a chief was a killing offense. Nervously, he licked his lips. “Forgive me, my Chief, I only wished to say that the canoes are of different sizes. I think we can average six in each canoe, but two will need to row back to pick up more warriors. That means really only four crossing at a time.”

“Then that’s two hundred crossing at once. That means it will take ten trips to cross our army of two thousand. Three hands of time at most.”

“Yes, but…” Negano shifted, pulling his cape closed beneath his chin. “We must also transport the litters filled with wounded and dead, and they are—”

“How long will that take?”

Negano gestured uncertainly. “It’s hard to guess. They are unwieldy. Perhaps another one hand of time.”

“Four hands of time total.”

Behind Negano, the deputy war chiefs moved around their fire, trying to keep their backs to the icy gusts. Their low voices carried a dark hostile timbre.

Atotarho tipped his chin to the deputies. “What are they most worried about?”

“Hmm?” Negano turned to look and heaved a sigh. “Almost everyone lost a friend or loved one today. As I said, while they, too, wish to punish those who fought against us, they wish to go home first, to lick their wounds, and care for their injured or dead relatives. If we engage in another battle before returning home, they fear the cost will—”

Atotarho broke in, “I don’t wish to hear any more on the subject.”

Softly, Negano responded, “Yes, my Chief.”

“We are currently on the south side of the Forks River. That means we will have to cross it twice, once to get to the north side and once to get back. Eight hands of time. Is that your assessment, as well?”

“Yes, my Chief.”

“Very well. That means we do not have the luxury of resting tonight. Roust our warriors from their blankets and get them on the trail as soon as possible.” Atotarho reached for his walking stick, and grunted as he shoved to his feet.

Negano’s eyes went wide. “But, my Chief, our warriors are exhausted. They must rest or they will never be able to fight—”

“Do it now, War Chief.”

Almost too stunned to speak, Negano stammered, “W-War Chief? You are appointing me? My chief, I do not think I am the right person—”