People of the Black Sun(39)
Through a tense exhalation, he said, “His weaknesses … all right. First, he’s inexperienced. While he carried the title of deputy war chief, he’s never actually served as one. He was the leader of Atotarho’s personal guards, composed of five or six warriors. He doesn’t understand how an army works. As well, if he’s been promoted over other more worthy people, there will be a lot of resentment. As the leader of the chief’s personal guards, he’s used to respect. It will be a shock for him. He’s going to stumble for a while as he finds his way and earns the trust of the men and women who were passed over.”
“What do you think of him personally?”
Sindak shrugged. “He’s not innovative, but he’s competent. Once he gets settled into the position, I think he’s capable of being a good War Chief. However, you should be aware that it won’t really matter who Atotarho’s war chief is … because Atotarho gives most of the commands himself.”
She listened, processing the information, trying to determine how she might be able to use it. Below, High Matron Kittle and Gonda exited the council house, carrying teacups, and wearily tramped across the plaza toward the Deer Clan Longhouse, undoubtedly praying they could finally get some sleep. Every few paces, someone stopped and demanded to speak with them. The Ruling Council had ordered Jigonsaseh to lead the fight for as long as necessary, which excused her from council meetings—at least until she was sent for. She wondered what decisions had been arrived at, and how it would affect the fight.
“Who do you think was promoted as the leader of Atotarho’s personal guards?”
Sindak shrugged. “That’s more difficult. I don’t think the chief really liked any of his other guards, though they were all good men. Honestly, I can’t even guess.”
“Try.”
Suspiciously, he cocked his head. “Why?”
“I need to know if he can be bribed, or convinced that his chief is insane and leading his people to destruction.”
“What you’re really saying is you want to know if we can convince him to kill the evil old man. Correct?”
“Yes.”
Sindak unfolded his arms and, as he turned toward her, his dark, deeply sunken eyes reflected the wavering firelight. “Well, he might have opted for a young, strong warrior like Lonkol, or a seasoned veteran like Nesi, his War Chief of many summers ago.” Sindak’s brows plunged down over his hooked nose. “If it’s Nesi, there is no chance whatsoever of swaying him in our direction. He is a man of great integrity. Loyal to a fault.”
“And if it’s Lonkol?”
His head waffled. “Maybe.”
In the plaza, Kittle finally made it to her longhouse, said a few final words to Gonda, and ducked beneath the curtain, disappearing into the warmth. A line of people followed her inside, calling questions.
Gonda took a drink from his teacup and surveyed the village. No one had remained to question him. He was merely a refugee, the Speaker for the Warriors from White Dog Village, a village destroyed by the man standing next to her, War Chief Sindak of the People of the Hills. When Gonda saw Jigonsaseh and Sindak standing together on the catwalk, he tiredly walked toward them.
“If you were still in charge of Atotarho’s army, how would your warriors be lined out?”
Sindak’s gaze roamed the surrounding hills, then he knelt on the catwalk and started drawing lines in the snow. “Keep in mind, after he left here, Atotarho probably split his army down the middle. He wanted to punish the rogue villages, so I suspect he dispatched three war parties to each village—Coldspring, Riverbank, and Canassatego—with orders to burn them to the ground. He—”
“Explain why you think he would split his army. It would be sheer foolishness.”
Sindak looked up at her. Snowflakes melted on his cheeks. “He’s insane. The fact that his daughter Zateri led the betrayal will be eating him alive.”
“If you’re right, that means there are only two thousand out there.”
Sindak didn’t even blink. “Yes, so we’re only outnumbered eight to one. Are you telling me you feel better?”
Gonda’s steps crunched the snow as he came up behind Sindak and, teacup in hand, peered inquiringly over Sindak’s shoulder at the sketch. His long red cape had an orange tint in the firelight.
Sindak continued, “He has two thousand trained warriors—not children carrying their childhood bows, as fill your ranks. Atotarho’s forces will be bedded down on every high point around this village. They’ll be concentrated here”—he sketched the position—“here and here. In addition, substantial forces will have been deployed to cut off the trails, to isolate you. Lastly, a thin line will fill in the most vulnerable gaps. Over here in this drainage, and up here where the trail cuts through the cap rock.” He stared for a time at the lines he’d made in the snow, nodded, and stood up again. “At least, that’s what I’d do.”