“And if you go to war with Three Myrtle Village?”
“I would avoid that if possible.” She paused. “Are you just talking, or do you have something in mind?”
“I always have things in my mind. But, for the moment, I’m more interested in your thoughts. Assume you go to war with Three Myrtle Village, what will the outcome be?”
“A splintering of the alliance among the Independent villages. Water Snake will see his opportunity, and act. But you know all this, don’t you?” “It would seem that you are trapped.”
“We will see our way through. But what about you? What do you gain? If the alliance is broken, you’ve lost a counterbalance to the Mamanatowick’s desire for northern expansion. If he controls the south bank of the Fish River, he can turn his energies toward you.”
“Indeed he could. On the other hand, he will need to strip warriors from all of his holdings. That would give me an opportunity to strike his frontier villages. He’ll be weak, bleeding himself in the north.”
Her mind’s eye could see it. Water Snake would lose men. In essence, he would be fighting a war on two fronts. “So, you wait like a rattler by an eagle’s nest. Only when the soaring hawk diverts the eagle’s attention do you steal his fledgling.” She grinned warily. “The problem is, the hawk may waver, and the eagle might turn at the last moment.”
“There are always risks,” he said. “As you just told me.”
The faint light from the hot stone faded, and she could actually feel his smile in the darkness.
“But those who are smart minimize their risks, Great Tayac. Wouldn’t it have been better to create a bond with Greenstone Clan, and then wear Water Snake down? That was your original plan, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.” He paused. “So, tell me, who do you think killed Red Knot?”
She filled her lungs with the pungent steam. “High Fox. Who else?”
“You didn’t believe that at first—and you don’t sound convinced, even now.”
“I don’t trust Corn Hunter. Never have. It still bothers me that his warriors were out there.” She ground her teeth, fists knotted. “His warriors had the opportunity, didn’t they?”
“They did,” he answered.
“I watched you, you know.” The heat was working into her joints, draining the tension that knotted every muscle. “My daughter’s death didn’t seem to affect you.”
He shifted in the darkness, the faint light from the hot stone faded now. “She was a girl, Shell Comb. Do not think my words unkind, but I’ve seen two tens more Comings of the Leaves than she had. You and I both know it was a marriage of convenience. Much like many of yours have been.”
“You would prefer an older woman then?”
Silence. Then he said neutrally, “I might.”
“Someone who thinks a great deal like you do?”
“It would be … refreshing, for once in my life.”
“Your other wives haven’t satisfied you?”
He chuckled. “The needs of the flesh, yes. I have provided children for their lineages.” Another pause. “From the tone in your voice, I can’t help but wonder what is in your head. The other women of marriageable age in your clan are taken.”
She smiled then, safe within the cloak of darkness. “And, what if I found you a woman? One capable of thinking the way you do? Would you find that … refreshing?”
“It would depend,” he said carefully. “I would have to see just what the marriage offered.”
As her thoughts wrapped around the idea, she murmured, “The future is always full of surprises.”
Nine
The fire crackled and spat flames under the mist of freezing rain that drifted down from the low clouds, icing the trees and leaf mat. Where the ground was exposed, footing was treacherous.
A pot of fish boiled on the flames, the aroma enough to send pangs into The Panther’s stomach. Boiled fish, while no great culinary delight, was still food and fuel for a cold night.
The Panther cocked a grizzled eyebrow at the heavens and huffed his disgust in a frosty breath. The chill ate at his bones, and he couldn’t seem to get close enough to the fire to stay warm.
Across from him, High Fox looked just as miserable, hollow-eyed, as if part of his soul had been stolen. Panther studied him. If he was truly innocent, that might indeed be the case. A person didn’t recover from such a thing, at least never completely. Years from now, High Fox would quiver in his dreams, wrongly accused, being dragged to his execution, protesting his innocence. What more horrible nightmare was there?