People of the Moon(183)

Leather Hand chuckled. “Well, he’ll have plenty tonight. And he says he knows how to lure Ironwood into our grasp. As long as he continues to be a benefit, he lives. The second he seems to waver, don’t even think about it. Just kill him.”

“And Ironwood?”

“I expect him to try and sneak into Flowing Waters Town. I’ll send you with a warning for the Blessed Sun when we get closer. With any luck War Chief Wind Leaf will round him up before he has a chance to make trouble. It’s not like he’s hard to miss. How many towering gray-haired men are missing their left eye and covered with scars?”

“Night Sun,” Turquoise Fox said softly. “By the gods, I never would have thought we’d take her alive.”

Leather Hand smiled his satisfaction. They might not have, but for Ravenfire’s deception of Night Sun. The raid had been perfect. In less than a finger’s time, those not captive were dead. Some of the women who had fled were run down and dragged back. On his orders they were beaten and raped before they were killed. His men had cut steaks from the bodies.

When Ironwood returned, saw what Leather Hand’s men had done, he would be coming. Yes, old enemy, feel your blood boil. Know that Leather Hand and his human monsters have your wife and grandson. Lose your senses to rage and desperation. I shall be waiting.

He walked over, squatting to look into Night Sun’s eyes. She stared back with an unexpected serenity.

“Well, Matron, it appears that you have been brought low.”

In a firm voice she replied, “This is not the first time I’ve been taken captive. The only difference is that last time, my captor was a great man, not a piece of walking two-legged filth.”

“He’s your grandson. It must run in the blood.”

“I was referring to you.”

With a lightning strike, he slapped her. The force of it stung his hand and nearly knocked her over.

“Do not use that tone with me, Outcast.”

She righted herself, working her jaw. He could see the red rising on her cheek. Her necklaces, the ones he’d placed on her as a symbol of her rank, were askew.

“Unlike you,” she said angrily, “I was declared Outcast. You have placed yourself beyond the society of honorable humans by your own outrageous actions.”

“Do not mock me. I hold your life in my hands.”

She snorted derision. “You hold nothing. Our world is coming to an end, and you are but a symptom of the last days. Look at you, one of the First People, a monster who chooses to eat human flesh. Leather Hand, when I see you, I see the rot that the First People have become.”

Glaring into her eyes, he said, “I can make your death particularly ghastly.”

“Just take me before Webworm. In the end, we shall see who makes whose end ghastly.”

He could see no fear behind her hard black eyes, only revulsion to his proximity. He leaned closer, whispering, “My dear Matron, I’m not taking you to Webworm. Far from it.”

“Stop playing silly games. Your Blessed Sun is far too vain to miss an opportunity to preen and brag in front of me.”

Leather Hand rubbed his hard palms together. “Sorry, Matron, but you could become a symbol within the walls of Dusk House. Some of the Made People might foolishly rally to your cause. Even members of your Red Lacewing Clan might attempt something stupid. No, we have a safer place to hold you. You are going home.”

At her slight confusion, he added, “I’m taking you back to Talon Town. It’s deserted. A huge hulking warren of empty rooms. And when I get you there, you will scream, Matron. And then you will scream some more.”

Only then did he see the quickening of her fear. “That’s right. And unlike at Flowing Waters Town, where Ironwood might find allies, I will lay my trap for him in Straight Path Canyon. In that abandoned valley, we’ll have ample warning before his arrival.”

Satisfied, he nodded as he straightened. She’d betrayed herself under his gaze. It was as if he’d seen into her very souls. Down deep inside, she was seeing Ironwood’s death.





Fifty-one



The hubbub broke midmorning. Spots was standing in the shade of the south wall. His firewood pile had been halved by the morning Trade, during which he’d obtained a sturdy gray quartzite knife hafted on a chokecherry handle. Cactus Flower’s trinkets lay on the blanket next to his. He caught various glimpses of her as she led a Hohokam Trader around, pointing out various sites, taking him through the great kiva. Spots leaned back against the cool wall, shoulders and one foot braced against the plaster.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like down south.” He was talking weather with a Trader from the Deep Canyon country. “The trails I take leading up to the forest are ankle deep in dust.”