Jigonsaseh’s gaze scanned the other benches, taking time to examine and identify faces, before she lowered her eyes and expelled a disheartened breath. “Hard to say. My guess is over six hundred.”
A potent blend of relief and triumph surged through him. “Blessed Spirits, that’s more than I’d hoped for.”
She whispered, for his ears alone, “Yes, but it means they’ve no choice now but to hit us hard tomorrow. It’s a matter of honor.”
He jerked a nod. “Very true, but we’ll be ready for them. Has Sindak lined out what he thinks may happen tomorrow?”
“He says Atotarho will throw one thousand warriors at us. At dawn, or just before.”
Gonda squeezed his eyes closed for a few heartbeats, absorbing the news. The sobs that filled the council house seemed louder. Before he opened his eyes again, he said, “We have to get as many of these people back on their feet as we can. We’re going to need every one of them on the catwalks with a bow.”
“I’ll speak with Bahna. Now, I should get back to…”
When she started to rise, he gripped her hand. “I have to tell you about the Flint massacre.”
“What massacre?” She eased back down to the bench. “Which village?”
Gonda kept his voice low. “Not a village. As I was moving around the palisade wall, setting fires, I overheard two warriors talking. Apparently, Atotarho’s warriors ambushed a Flint war party and killed four hundred warriors.”
Her face slackened and her gaze darted over the council house while she thought about it. “Cord’s war party?”
“Probably.”
Jigonsaseh bowed her head and massaged her brow. “Blessed gods, they left here with around five hundred warriors, if Atotarho killed four hundred…”
Gonda gave her a few moments.
When she lifted her head, he said, “The survivors should be getting back to Flint country tomorrow. After they’ve told their story, the Flint Ruling Council will act.”
“Yes, but what action will it take?”
“How many warriors do you suppose they have left?”
She waved a palm through the air. “If I know their chief”—Gonda winced when she did not say Cord’s name; it meant she thought he was dead—“he talked the matrons into leaving a significant number at home to guard their three villages. I don’t know … I suspect they have perhaps one thousand five hundred warriors remaining in the nation. Five hundred guarding each village. A pittance, compared to Atotarho’s forces.”
“Yes, even if they know we’re in trouble, they will not wish to risk any of their remaining forces to help us.”
Her lips tightened into a white bloodless line. “No.”
They both exhaled at the same time, and their breaths frosted in the cold firelit air. When she looked back at him it was as though the summers had rolled back and he was still her deputy war chief. She depended upon him to give her good advice, advice that would save lives.
Gonda squeezed her hand and released it. “Tomorrow morning, we must get every person on the catwalks that we can. Even the members of the Ruling Council must take up bows.”
Her head moved in a barely visible nod, but her eyes were focused elsewhere. He knew from long experience that her thoughts had turned to strategy and tactics, already envisioning what her enemy might do at dawn, and planning how to counter it. She had an unnatural ability to place her souls inside her enemy’s body and see through his eyes.
He softly interrupted her thoughts, “Sky Messenger should have reached the villages of the People of the Landing yesterday or today.”
“Only if he’s been able to run the whole way. We can’t count on that. We don’t know how many war parties or other obstacles he might have faced. And even if he did, even if they joined the alliance, our son has no idea we’re in a fight for our lives. There’s no help coming, Gonda. Get used to it.”
Gonda’s head waffled in uncertainty. “Don’t underestimate the Traders who’ve passed by here and seen what’s happening. I suspect the news of our struggle is racing down the trails like wildfire. If we can just hold out—”
“We have to destroy our enemies by ourselves, Gonda.”
Her beautiful exhausted face had set into determined lines. He nodded. “You’re right. What do you need me to do?”
She glanced at his splinted leg. “When you are able—”
“I’ll be able tomorrow. I may have to get around on a crutch, but at dawn, I’ll be right there on the catwalk beside you.”
Thirty-three
Opalescent gray light fell through the dark trees, weaving a gigantic spider’s web of shadows across their camp on the densely forested hillside.