Thirty paces down the slope, in the very center of the camp, a ring of warriors surrounded Atotarho. He could make out Nesi, because he towered over everyone else, and Atotarho was unmistakable. The elderly Chief stood propped on his walking stick with his black cape flapping around him. The rattlesnake skins braided into his gray hair winked eerily in the moonlight.
Atotarho continued, “… and if your army arrived last night, where is it? These games are foolishness. Tell Chief Wenisa … speak with him … no more messengers.”
A short gaunt man, barely visible in the moonlight, bowed deeply and trotted away.
Negano forced himself to sit up. Gods, he longed to go back to sleep, but the mention of Wenisa’s name meant the Mountain People had arrived. He didn’t see them out there, but they must be close, perhaps bedded down in the valley of corpses to the west of Bur Oak Village. He shifted to look in that direction.
Two hundred paces away, down the hill, Bur Oak Village wavered in and out of sight, cloaked by the downy mist that rose from Reed Marsh and rolled across the valley bottom like moonlit clouds. The village was completely dark. Matron Jigonsaseh probably didn’t want to fire-blind her warriors, just in case Negano decided to launch a night attack, or perhaps she was saving wood. Though that seemed unlikely. She must know that today would be the last day of the Standing Stone nation. Her people weren’t going to need wood. By midmorning at the latest, they would be dead or slaves. It was a miracle, a testament to her skill, that they had managed to survive as long as they had. He was fairly certain he could lay the blame for the destruction of his food supplies at her feet. He shook his head as grudging respect filled him.
Nesi said, “I don’t like this. Wenisa is a weasel, he can’t be trust…”
Negano strained to hear more. When he couldn’t, he dragged himself to his feet and straightened his cape. The unbelievable warmth of the night had made him sweat. His war shirt stuck to his chest in clammy folds. In a rumpled line on the eastern horizon, the faintest hint of blue gleamed. Soon, dawn would overwhelm the black pools of moon shadow that splotched the valley.
He reached down to pick up his weapons. While he’d slept in his weapons belt, he’d removed and placed his quiver and bow beside him, within reach. It took all of his strength to bend down, grab them, and sling them over his shoulder.
As he started down the slope for Atotarho’s circle, he saw two warriors off to his right, moving through the camp, apparently kicking men and women awake. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see blankets flying when feet connected—probably warriors scrambling up and throwing off their blankets. It annoyed him. Everyone except the sentries should be allowed to sleep for as long as they could. Who had given the order to wake the army?
His gaze returned to Atotarho, and his brows drew together. Negano had lost another three-hundred-forty-two warriors yesterday. He wouldn’t know for certain until dawn how many more had died from wounds during the night … but he suspected he had perhaps six hundred fighters left, and though severely damaged, the Bur Oak palisades still stood. Even with two thousand Mountain warriors as reinforcements, many more of his warriors would lose their lives today.
“War Chief?” a man called from his right.
Negano turned to see a young warrior, sixteen summers, trotting through the moonlight. The youth had a lean hungry face with shoulder-length black hair. His dark eyes looked huge. “What is it, Yekonis?”
The man slowed to a halt two paces away, as though he wanted some distance between them. “War Chief, I don’t know how to tell you this. Tarha and I were walking across the camp when we noticed that many of the bundles of blankets on the ground were too small to be sleeping people. We started kicking them over.” The man spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “They’re gone, War Chief.”
Negano tried to focus his foggy thoughts. “Who’s gone?”
“The warriors. Our warriors. Some time in the night they formed their blankets into human-shaped bundles, probably hoping to fool us long enough that they could get far away before we discovered their ruse. They—”
Negano lurched forward to grip his shoulder hard. “How many fled?”
Yekonis nervously licked his lips. “I don’t know. We’ve only just begun searching. We’ve discovered about seventy so far. I thought I should come and tell you before we continued.”
Negano’s fingers dug into Yekonis’ shoulder. Did they have enough of an army left to defend itself? The ramifications could be deadly. “Does anyone else know about this?”