“What news?” Shell Comb asked.
“I’ve no idea. The sentry just shouted that the warriors are returning. Now you know as much as I do.”
“It’s not any too soon for me. This has taken too long.”
Hunting Hawk growled under her breath. “War rarely provides instant gratification. If Nine Killer took an extra day, it was no doubt for a reason. Learn patience, girl, or you’ll never be a leader.” “I thought you wanted me to learn discipline?”
“That, too, and you’ve exceeded my expectations recently. It’s almost enough to worry me.”
Shell Comb shot her a sidelong glance and said, “Mother, I can be just as coldly pragmatic as you can. I, too, can mute the voices in my soul, and deafen myself to the longings of my heart. I’ve tried to tell you that.”
They passed through the palisade and walked down to where the crowd was gathering at the landing.
The canoes came in like a school of fish, the warriors calling greetings to friends and family as their paddles flashed in the fading light.
“One ten, two tens, three tens…” Hunting Hawk counted the bobbing heads as the canoes shot toward the beach. “Four tens, and four. That’s two more than left here. What? Not a single loss? And none of them laid out wounded?”
“Maybe Nine Killer’s raid was perfect?” Shell Comb propped her hands on her shapely hips. “He can do wonders when he puts his head and heart into it.”
“Hard to believe. No raid is perfect. Do you see High Fox?”
“No. But, well, that’s Sun Conch in that lead canoe. She’s High Fox’s friend. Who’s that old man riding in back of her?” Hunting Hawk squinted, studying the canoes as they beached and people swarmed around the warriors, slapping backs, laughing and joking. Hunting Hawk caught the words “trapped… feast… good times.” And then she heard the words, “The Panther The witch!”
She was just stepping forward when the people pushed back, silence spreading through what had begun as a happy welcoming. Hunting Hawk drew up short with the rest when the old man was helped out of the canoe by Sun Conch.
He winced, rubbing his hips, taking careful steps, as if his old bones ached from the long ride. His gray hair looked shaggy, wind-tousled, and wild. The tattered blanket draped about his thin shoulders was worn and smudged. But his fierce Power burned in his withered face.
Hunting Hawk hobbled forward, stabbing the damp sand with her walking stick. “What goes on here? Where is High Fox?”
Nine Killer collected his weapons from his canoe and looked around at the crowd, then at the old man, before he faced Hunting Hawk. “Weroansqua, High Fox is in Three Myrtle Village. There has been a change of plans.” “A change of plans?” Hunting Hawk throttled her first impulse to fly into a rage. No, she would wait to hear his story.
“I left him in Three Myrtle Village,” the old man said, wincing as he came up to her. “Bat dung! I can’t sit still that long anymore.” He met her stony gaze, a grim set to his thin lips. In a commanding voice, he told her, “I am called The Panther.”
People stumbled over themselves as they backed away.
Hunting Hawk’s anger turned to fear. “The witch? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to make sense of this mess.” He let his gaze travel the crowd. “I came here to determine the truth of Red Knot’s death.” He pointed at Sun Conch. “This girl came to me, asked me to see for myself if High Fox killed your granddaughter. She is now bound to me.” His voice lowered in subtle threat. “Do you understand?”
Hunting Hawk tightened her grip on her walking stick. “We don’t need you here, sorcerer.”
“Indeed?” Panther gestured at the warriors grouped behind Nine Killer. “Would you rather that your young men be staring out of sightless eyes? It’s hard to see when your head is fastened to a post on Three Myrtle Village’s palisade.”
Nine Killer nodded warily at Hunting Hawk’s questioning glance. “We were anticipated, Weroansqua. We I walked right into a trap. Black Spike would have taken us all. The Panther stopped the massacre just as it was beginning. I… we all … owe our lives to him. When others had lost their senses, he spoke with wisdom. I urge you, Weroansqua, hear what he has to say.”
Hunting Hawk’s stomach felt hollow, her legs suddenly weak. Pride forced her to meet the sorcerer’s probing stare. “So, what will you do here?”
“I have told you. I will find your granddaughter’s murderer.”
“Why?” Shell Comb demanded. Her voice sounded raw. “What is our business to you?”