People of the Lakes(336)
Was that a flute?
The dog still followed, ears pricked, whining in distress.
Power seemed to ebb and flow with the sound of the lilting melody that wove through the growing roar of the falls.
Pale Snake ducked down and slipped under the hanging branch of a lightning-rent maple. It wasn’t far now, was it? He could smell the mist, and when he looked up, he expected to see it in the slanting light of the late afternoon sun. In less than one hand of time, the sun would be down.
The dog growled, circling warily to one side, its long nose quivering as it scented the damp air.
“Are we getting close?” Pale Snake asked, again testing the heavy war club. It looked particularly vicious—and so big! If nothing else, he could hide behind it.
He wound his way forward, slipped around plum and willow bushes, and then darted behind a tree. He could hear a child’s voice now, crystalline as she Sang—Silver Water!
At that moment, a frightened warrior came thrashing down the trail, slowed to a stop at the sight of Pale
“Snake—and went crashing off to the west, clearly in panicked flight. Pale Snake watched the man leave, keeping track of the yellow war shirt as the warrior dashed through the trees.
The dog had. laid its ears flat, growling, but allowed the man to go.
Pale Snake could hear others passing, clearly running. The Mask! But … who’s wearing it?
He worked his way forward until he could see a clearing.
Through the weave of bushes, he caught sight of a big man, his hands and feet tied, lying on the ground. Pale Snake used a clump of wild roses for cover as he zigzagged closer. No, two men—each tied, and beyond them, people stood … Star Shell!
Another woman was crawling through the brush to his right, toward the bound warriors. Everyone else’s attention was riveted on a skinny figure that stumbled and jerked and laughed as it rotated like a leaf on the wind. The Mask pulsed with Power, surging, reaching out desperately.
The yellow-shirted warriors had begun to advance, war clubs in their hands, circling the spinning Dreamer who wore the Mask.
The strange woman crouched to Pale Snake’s right. She cast a glance at him,-warily taking his measure. Then she sucked in a breath and began pulling at the bonds of the smaller man. The dog crept up behind her and silently licked her hands as she worked.
Pale Snake got down on his stomach and edged forward to untie the bonds of the big warrior, aware that the man’s wounded arms still leaked blood.
One of the yellow-shirted warriors shrieked a war cry as his men tightened the ring about the gyrating Dreamer. Why didn’t the Dancer use the Power of the Mask? With it, he could destroy all of them! Why was he he’sitating?
Pale Snake used the copper spikes of the war club to sever the fiber cord that bound the big man’s hands and feet. The fellow looked back, saw the club, and his eyes lit with a ferocity that Pale Snake had never seen before.
“Now, good stranger, hand me my club. I’ve had just about a bellyful of Khota … “
From the corner of her eye, Star Shell caught movement near Black Skull. Had he shifted slightly?
The Contrary staggered sideways, then went around in a backward circle, trying to keep his balance as he chuckled delightedly.
When he. stumbled, Wolf of the Dead let out a hideous howl and rushed forward.
“Silver Water! Get down!” Star Shell yelled, and she leaped for her daughter. She tackled the little girl and dragged her to the ground just as shouts of rage erupted, followed by pounding feet and screams.
“Be still!” Star Shell ordered, covering her daughter’s body with her own.
She didn’t believe what she saw. Black Skull fought like a man possessed, twisting, dancing, swinging a gigantic war club so fast that the movement became a blur. Where had he found the strength?
Otter snatched a dropped Khota war club from the ground and swung it up to parry a blow as a Khota warrior sought to crush his head. The Trader pivoted and used a side-handed riposte to hammer the warrior’s ribs with a snapping whump. The man gasped, and Otter took that opportunity to brain him.
For a moment, Star Shell’s mind refused to accept the fact that the third man who scooped up a war club was Pale Snake; his terrible grimace made the tattooed serpents on his cheeks coil and strike as he beat a stumbling Khota warrior to his knees, then battered through the man’s defense to cave in his opponent’s forehead.
One of the Khota thudded into the ground in front of Star Shell’s eyes, his body flopping loosely with the impact. His face was skewed, one eyeball popped out; it took a moment for Star Shell to recognize the leaking, reddish-gray mass protruding from the side of his shattered skull: brains … Black Skull twisted away in a blur to crack a charging warrior across the kneecap. As the man staggered, Black Skull twirled, broke the arm holding the war club, then crushed the spine with a blow to the back of the neck. Before the man could fall, Black Skull ducked under a whirling war club, jabbed the attacker in the hollow of the throat, and as the man jerked back, planted a foot and batted his victim across the face. Faster than a blink, he skipped sideways to strike down yet another of the Khota.