People of the Black Sun(25)
Eight
Though afternoon sunlight painted the rolling hills with swaths and streaks of gold, indigo shadows encircled the patches of snow that lingered in the most thickly wooded areas, mostly on the north slopes. War Chief Baji kept searching them, identifying the slightest movement, or shift of colors. Fortunately, the only things she’d seen all day were animals and birds. The rich scents of damp earth and old autumn leaves filled the air.
When the trail curved through a rocky defile, Baji’s pace slowed to a walk. Breathing hard, she looked around. Massive gray boulders the size of longhouses piled atop one another here, and extended for perhaps four hundred paces. She turned, saw her deputy, and called, “Dzadi, take four men and scout the top of the rocks.”
Deputy Dzadi, a big man who’d seen forty-six summers, lifted a hand, selected his scouts, and trotted away. She watched two men climb up and scamper across the rocks that lined the northern side of the trail. Dzadi and two other warriors took the southern side. Dzadi was out front, searching the boulders for hidden warriors. He was known far and wide for the puckered burn scars that discolored his face and muscular arms. He’d been captured by the enemy three times during his life, and escaped each time. He was one of the bravest men she knew, though age was beginning to slow him down. The village warriors had at first voted Dzadi as War Chief, but he had refused the honor, saying he was too old. Instead, he’d thrown his support behind Baji. Afterward, the warriors had overwhelmingly cast their voices to make Baji the new War Chief of Wild River Village.
Baji took the time to untie her belt pouch and pull out a strip of venison jerky. She ripped off a chunk and chewed it slowly. Five hundred warriors slowed behind her, and conversations broke out. She heaved a sigh. As she did, Cord came up beside her and scanned the way ahead. In the distance, the trail ascended a steep hill, rising up out of the valley like a dark serpent.
“What do you think?” she asked her adopted father.
Cord’s eyes narrowed. “We’re probably safe. The footing on top of the rocks is treacherous, too many gaps and cracks to negotiate, but I’m glad you are vigilant.” The black roach of hair that thrust up from the middle of his shaved head had just a touch of silver, and lines etched the flesh across his tanned forehead. Otherwise, he did not look his forty-one summers. The snake tattoos on his cheeks still appeared crisp and detailed, not shriveled with wrinkles. The thick knife scar that slashed his square jaw shone whitely in the winter glare.
Cord said, “How are the wounded faring?”
“Better than I would have thought. Those who can run are managing to keep up. Those who can’t have crawled upon the litters, joining the dead, and are being carried. Tomorrow we’ll be able to move a little faster. The litters will be lighter.”
As her lean body cooled down, her sweat-soaked war shirt clung to her body, chilling her. She shivered and bit off another chunk of jerky. The meat had been smoked over a hickory fire. The rich tang tasted wonderful. She finished it slowly, then retied her belt pouch.
At the far end of the rocks, she saw Dzadi wave to her, indicting the defile was safe. She nodded to Cord and they broke into a trot again, running side-by-side through the deep shadows. Behind them, the low drone of hundreds of feet beat the air.
As they plunged down the trail between the boulders, Cord said, “Did you come to an agreement?”
“With whom?”
He gave her a disgruntled look—his silent way of asking if she thought him stupid.
Baji sighed. At least he’d waited to ask until afternoon when it didn’t hurt so much. “He asked me to go away with him.”
“He’s leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he going?”
“In search of allies. He says we are not alone. There are others out there who agree that the war must end. Others who may wish to join us.”
Cord frowned and the snakes tattooed on his cheeks seemed to coil tighter. “He’s right. The alliance needs more warriors. As it stands, we have barely half the forces of our enemy.”
“And the war has been long and difficult. Every nation south of Skanodario Lake is ripe for harvest. Atotarho knows it. He will not wait for us to move. His own faction of the People of the Hills is starving.”
“Every nation is starving, except ours.”
Baji looked at him askance. “That’s the problem. We have food. You can be certain they’ll be coming for it.”
They trotted out of the rocks and over the crest of the hill where she gazed down upon the thickly forested valley below. It was all second-growth, dense stands of stubby trees that had invaded after a lightning-caused fire. Blackened stumps and trees still dotted the landscape. Stripped from their branches by the fierce winter winds, leaves had piled knee-deep in the middle of the trail. Her war party would be forced to slog through them.