Baji looked at Wrass with so much admiration in her dark eyes it made him a little dizzy. She tightened her hold on Tutelo’s hand and vowed, “I’m coming back for you, Wrass. And I’m bringing a war party with me. Come on, Tutelo. Hehaka? Move!”
Tutelo opened her mouth to cry, but no sounds came out. Finally, she whimpered, “Tell Odion I love him. Tell him!”
Wrass nodded. “I’ll tell him.”
Baji dragged Tutelo out into the trees and trotted away. Hehaka ran after her, but he kept looking back at the camp, probably searching for Gannajero. The darkness swallowed them.
Wrass staggered. The pain was almost too much to bear. He longed to lie down and weep. Worse, he was having trouble seeing. The campfires were blurs amid a sea of moving bodies and drifting smoke.
He forced his shaking legs to carry him over to Tenshu. After he tugged the warrior’s club from his dead hand, he had to lean against a tree trunk to keep standing.
“I can do this,” he hissed to himself. “I just need … to breathe … for a moment.”
He thought about his father, whom he’d watched die at Yellowtail Village. The arrow had struck Father in the leg, slicing through the big artery. It hadn’t taken long for him to bleed to death … but it had seemed like it.
Wrass hefted the war club, testing its weight. It was almost too heavy for him to wield effectively. Sucking in one last fortifying breath, he looked up at the campfires of the dead and whispered, “Please, meet me at the bridge, Father.”
Then he slipped back into the trees and staggered through the shadows, heading for Gannajero’s campfire.
Thirty-nine
Sindak looked across at Towa, then past him to Gonda and Koracoo. All four of them had flattened out on their bellies on the rocky hilltop overlooking the enormous warriors’ camp that stretched along the western bank of the Quill River. Over one hundred fires burned, and each was encircled by a rowdy group of triumphant warriors talking, eating, shoving each other playfully. A group of captive children, roped together, huddled to the west, near the tree line, and on the northern outskirts of the camp, four fistfights raged. He also spotted three men coupling with captive women while their friends laughed.
Sindak slid sideways across the frozen grass toward Towa and remarked, “This is worse than the Wolf Clan longhouse at midnight.”
Towa kept his gaze on the camp. “You’re just jealous because my clan is the largest and the oldest.”
“Yes, well, the person who said that being really old was a virtue had seen sixteen summers. Large, however—that could have been any male.”
Towa ignored him. “From this distance, I can’t see very clearly. How many warriors are down there?”
“I’d guess around four hundred, maybe five.”
“Are they all Flint People?”
“Most are. But I see Mountain and Landing warriors, too.”
Towa turned to stare Sindak in the eyes. “So, if we walk in there and try to grab a few children, we’ll be dead in less than ten heartbeats.”
“I’d say five.”
Towa’s mouth quirked. “Do you have any helpful ideas?”
“No. How about you?”
Towa rubbed the back of his neck as though the muscles had knotted up. “Well, if I run hard for ten or twelve days, I should be home.”
Sindak nodded. “When you get there, put in a good word for me, will you? My clan matron, Tila, thinks I’m a coward.”
“Sindak, I doubt that even your glorious death will be enough to convince—”
“Towa,” Gonda whispered, as though to shut them up.
They both turned to watch him sliding toward them on his belly. Ash had settled on Gonda’s heavy brow, filling in the lines of his forehead like black paint. His chopped-off black hair stuck to his wide cheekbones. “We’re moving closer. Nock your bows.”
“Closer?” Sindak said. “Why? So they can see the whites of our eyes when they kill us?”
Gonda scowled at him. “We’re not going to get that close, imbecile. There’s enough firelight that if we spot the children, we may be able to shoot their guards and sneak in and rescue them before anyone knows it.”
Towa glanced uneasily at the camp. “Forgive me, but even if our children are there, they’re surrounded by hundreds of warriors. We’ll never—”
“Look at me, Towa.” Gonda glowered. “Try to forget your own hide. We’re going to circle around the western edge of the camp, then work our way north through the trees, staying about ten paces apart. Do you understand?”
Towa’s brows knitted over his straight nose. “Of course.”