People of the Morning Star(180)
“Why are we sitting out here in the rain,” he asked. “There’s a perfectly good Four Winds Clan House right over there. It’s got a big veranda. I’ll bet the roof is rainproof, and there’s a roaring fire inside.”
“There’s a reason I keep you around, thief.” She gestured, allowed Seven Skull Shield to help her up, and ordered, “Let’s go someplace dry where we…”
At the edge of the plaza, the clacking cadence of a marching squadron barely preceded the arrival of tight ranks of warriors as they emerged from between the Snapping Turtle Clan charnel house and its conical burial mound.
All around her, people were climbing to their feet, arms crossed on their chests, shivering in the rain. Everyone watched the squadron as it trotted across the spacious plaza, the warriors ducking their heads by the rank as they touched their foreheads and passed the World Tree pole.
Blue Heron walked out, smiling as Five Fists Mankiller—marching in the squadron first’s position behind the two-headed eagle standard that denoted Morning Star’s squadron—stopped short, shouting orders.
The squadron second shouted a repeat of Five Fists’ commands, and moved his arms in the choreographed gestures of command.
Heedless of the rain, the formation broke, lines of warriors wheeling, trotting forward, and turning until the clustered knot of survivors was surrounded.
Blue Heron stepped up to Five Fists, two of her porters trying to keep the rain shield over her head.
“Good to see you, old friend. Your timing’s a little late. Where’s War Duck’s squadron?”
“Disbanded at the river on the Morning Star’s orders, Keeper.” The tension in Five Fists’ eyes indicated he was unhappy about something.
She pointed back at the burning palace. “We could have used your help about a half a hand of time ago.”
He was looking around at the crowd. “I see the Lady Sun Wing. Where is Lace?”
“Walking Smoke killed her. Offered her blood to Piasa, and chopped her and her baby into pieces before spreading them on the floor.” She hesitated. “Since when did Morning Star put you back in charge of a squadron? Thought that was Lightning Eagle’s honor?”
His speculative eyes roamed the crowd again, then returned to hers. Rain was spattering from his wood-and-leather helmet, the feathers that normally decorated it were sodden and sagging.
“Is this everyone who was in the palace when Walking Smoke was attempting the ritual?”
“It is.” She lifted a hand. “Well, everyone but Night Shadow Star, Walking Smoke, and the Red Wing.”
“Where are they?” Five Fists lifted his hand, fingers flexing in the sign language of the squadrons. His war second stepped close, waiting.
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if they escaped the palace or burned in the back. The last I saw, they’d gone into Columella’s personal quarters, but the wall was on fire. The smoke pretty thick. The Red Wing went in pursuit. The thief, however, tells me there was a tunnel back there. They may have escaped that way.”
“Take twenty warriors. Find them,” Five Fists ordered his second.
The man touched his forehead, wheeled, and charged off ordering, “You twenty. With me.”
She watched the warriors race off around the edges of the mound. “What’s going on here, old friend? Something about this just has the wrong feel.”
“I am sent to return everyone to Cahokia under guard. Morning Star’s personal orders, Keeper. Everyone.”
“So, it’s like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so, Keeper.”
She glanced sidelong at Columella and the dwarf. “Yes, he does play with a great many baited lines, doesn’t he?”
She just never thought she’d be one of the ones he finally reeled in.
Sixty-five
“No!” Fire Cat screamed as Night Shadow Star’s canoe flipped over. He couldn’t believe it. He was no more than a hard stone’s throw from overtaking her. Close enough to have seen her undress and apparently offer herself to that soul-sick and twisted brother of hers. It hadn’t made any sense.
And then she’d deliberately rolled the canoe?
Fire Cat rose to his knees, using his weight behind the paddle to drive the canoe forward. In the slashing rain, he searched the roiling river’s surface. Night Shadow Star’s canoe had canted back onto its side, waves breaking over the rain-dimpled curve of hull.
She had to come up soon. So did Walking Smoke.
And when he does, I’m taking this paddle and driving it through the top of the abomination’s head.
Fire Cat slicked bloody water from his face and pulled his soaked hair back. Doing so made him flinch as his torn scalp protested. His burned skin stung like a thousand bees had been at him. A weary fatigue lurked in his very bones. He could feel cold eating at his core, triggering the first shivers to run down his goose-fleshed arms.