“Yes, all of the children are in bed being watched by elders.”
“Good. I—”
“Gonda!” a woman shouted.
He spun and saw young Kiya, fifteen summers old, waving her bow at him. “Two runners! Coming from the west!”
Gonda sprinted toward Kiya and gazed out over the chest-high palisade wall. They’d just stepped out of the forest. One man was supporting the other. Both looked wounded. “It’s Coter and Hagnon. Quickly, climb down. Tell our men to open the gates.”
As Kiya ran to obey, Gonda tucked his arrow in his quiver, slung his bow, and trotted down the palisade repeating, “We’re going to open the gates. Prepare to be stormed. Keep your bows focused on the area just in front of the gates! … We’re going to open the gates. Get your bows up! Be ready! … This could be a ruse to get us to open the gates! Don’t be fooled!”
As he raced for a ladder and began to scramble down, his nerves were strung as tight as a rawhide drum. He hit the ground running.
Just before he arrived, two warriors pulled the gates open barely the width of four hands, and the scouts slid through. “Close the gate!” he shouted. “Get the planks down!”
Men dropped the locking planks back into position, securing the gates.
Inside the village, noise rose, people asking questions, running along the palisade to look down at the wounded scouts, arrows clattering in quivers.
But outside … outside … Gonda heard nothing.
He lunged for Hagnon, who had Coter’s arm draped over his shoulder. “Marten? Take Coter to one of the medicine elders. See that he’s taken care of, then get right back here!”
“Yes, Gonda.”
Marten pulled Coter’s arm over his own shoulders and started dragging him toward the closest longhouse.
Hagnon looked like he was about to collapse. Streaks of blood covered his square-jawed face and splotched his war shirt. “Gonda, G-Gonda, I—”
“Hagnon, what happened?”
With terror-bright eyes, Hagnon grabbed Gonda by the shoulders and leaned forward to hiss, “They let us through, Gonda. They thought it was a big joke.”
“Who did?”
Hagnon shook his head. “Most are Mountain People warriors, but there may be Hills or Landing warriors out there, too. There are so many, I didn’t—”
Gonda grabbed his arms and shook him. “How many? Quickly!”
Hagnon swallowed hard and glanced at the nearby warriors. Softly he replied, “There must be, I—I don’t know, maybe over one thousand, Gonda. Or … more. I—I didn’t get a good look. They are spread out through the forest, aligned for waves of attacks.”
Gonda felt like he’d been kicked in the belly. He released Hagnon’s arms, stiffened his spine, and praised, “You are worth your weight in copper, my friend. Your bravery will be rewarded. Now get to the Wolf Clan longhouse and tell the matrons what we’re facing.”
“Yes, Gonda.” Hagnon tried to trot away, but ended up staggering.
When Gonda looked back he found himself surrounded by warriors. All eyes fixed on him, waiting for the bad news. In the faint firelight cast by the houses, their faces looked pale and drawn.
Gonda held out his hands and made a calming motion. “Now, remember, no one has ever breached these walls. So long as you each do your duty, we’ll make it through this. Do you understand? Just do your duty.”
“But, Gonda …” Kiya wet her lips and stared at him with huge eyes. “Did he say thousands?”
“Hagnon couldn’t see very well, Kiya. He was wounded, scared, trying to protect his friend; he probably saw far more warriors than there were. I’m sure I would have.”
A small round of nervous laughter went through the crowd.
Gonda smiled and raised his voice for all to hear: “And it doesn’t matter how many there are! You are well trained. I’ve seen to it myself. I know you can fight off any attack. You’re the finest warriors in the land! Now, get to your posts!”
Warriors scattered.
Before Gonda had taken two steps, war cries tore the air and the people on the catwalk started shouting and running. The enemy hit the palisade like a hurricane, shaking the ground at his feet … .
Gonda woke. He glimpsed branches above him, heard rain falling. The colors melted together as images collided and spun wildly, carrying him back to …
The plaza throbbed with a sourceless pounding of sobs and angry shouts. Women moved among the wounded who had been dragged against the southern palisade wall behind the Wolf longhouse. They yelled to each other to make themselves heard over the roar of battle. Orphaned children huddled together between the longhouses, crying and reaching pleadingly for anyone who passed by, calling the names of family members who would never answer again. Scents of urine mixed nauseatingly with the coppery odor of blood.