“What are the chances of sneaking into Flowing Waters Town?” Crow Woman asked as she walked up. “Are the guards vigilant?”
“Very,” Spots answered, studying her intently. “I remember you.”
Wrapped Wrist suffered a slight twinge at the interest in Spots’s eyes. Gods, I’m not jealous, am I?
Spots continued. “A guard was … I killed him the night of Webworm’s … Since then, Wind Leaf’s been a terror on guards.”
“But you can get in and out?” Crow Woman asked.
“I’m a Trader. I can get into the plaza, but it’s not worth my life to try and climb onto the second floor.”
“Night Sun would be somewhere deep in the interior rooms,” Yucca Sock said, glancing unsurely to where Ironwood stood. The war chief had a hand pressed to his heart, as if it bothered him. Softness lay behind the war chief’s eyes; a faint expression of pain pinched his lips.
“We’ve got to try,” Crow Woman replied. “And we have to do it in a way that doesn’t expose us. Wind Leaf and Desert Willow will have everyone watching for us.”
Spots cocked his jaw, thought behind his eyes.
From long habit, Wrapped Wrist asked, “You know something?”
Spots gave him a serious look. “I might. For the most part, Traders in Flowing Waters Town are invisible.”
“Which means?”Yucca Sock asked.
“Have you ever heard of anyone named Creeper?”
At the name, Ironwood turned, alert again. “Just what would you know about Creeper?”
Leather Hand knelt, his hand on Night Sun’s tangled gray hair. Mad rage coupled with a curious respect. He let his fingers smooth her gray locks. They’d gone stiff with age, but he could imagine how sleek they must have been when she was still young and beautiful.
He stared up at the square of sky visible overhead. It beckoned, a deep and crystalline blue.
“I’m so sorry, War Chief,” Turquoise Fox said. He stood, a cape over his shoulders, staring down uneasily at the old woman’s corpse.
“No, it’s all right.” Leather Hand stood, head cocked. “I put that slave collar on her as a means of humiliating her. It was to break her spirit.” A pause. “It takes a most clever adversary to turn a weapon back upon its wielder.”
In the night, she had thrust her fingers under her slave collar, twisted it, and choked herself to death. As consciousness slipped away, the weight of her arm had kept the strangulation tight.
“So dies a Matron,” he mused. Even in death her half-lidded eyes had a Power over him. “With her dies the last of her world.”
He patted her head one last time, feeling the skull beneath her aged skin. When he rose to his feet, it was with a purpose. “Dead, she is no longer a lure for Ironwood. We need, however, to keep this news from the other captives. I want you to arrange to let the young woman escape. The strong-looking one. She must think she has managed this thing on her own.”
Turquoise Fox grinned. “And of course she will run straight to Ironwood!”
“Precisely.” He rubbed his hands together. “You know, there’s a chance that Ironwood doesn’t know where Night Sun was taken. Or perhaps Webworm already has him locked up at Flowing Waters Town. Meanwhile, take what’s left of her and find some interior room to stick her in. Preferably an out-of-the-way place. Wall it up, or throw some matting over her. I don’t care.”
“Yes, War Chief.” Turquoise Fox bent to pick up the old woman. A dot of blue caught his eye as a little carved wolf swung loose, dangling on a thong. He considered taking the talisman, then thought better of it. Perhaps she’d earned her guide to the Land of the Dead.
He climbed the ladder into sunlight and looked out at the dawn. The cold air had a bite to it.
Around him, Straight Path Canyon gleamed in the morning. He could see Kettle Town to the east, its squat tiers outlined by snow. To the west, Streamside Town caught the first rays of the morning sun. Across Straight Path Wash, several fingers of smoke rose from the few remaining settlements in the valley. The handful of farmers would have lost what few pitiful crops remained. Leather Hand suspected that within days, they, too, would have left the canyon behind.
He was turning to head for his room when a man climbed the south wall and jogged wearily across the plaza. He wore a woven buffalo-wool cape, a heavy shirt, and thick socks covered his trail sandals, the latter caked with frozen mud.
“Deputy War Chief,” the man called, waving. “I have news. Matron Desert Willow and War Chief Wind Leaf order you to come to Flowing Waters Town immediately.”