People of the Nightland(137)

Kakala, tell me you value your hide as much as I suddenly do.





Goodeagle lounged on the floor, head propped on his hand, watching Kakala and Keresa. They knelt on the opposite side of the chamber. The thin veil of dawn penetrated the rocks over their heads and cast a pale blue tracery across the floor. They were drawing in the dirt at their feet, whispering to each other. Plotting their escape.

A chuckle shook him.

The fools thought they could escape.

All around him warriors talked about their families, wondering if their wives and children were safe. The plans they made remained blissfully free of references to the cages when they finally returned home.

Goodeagle wiped his mouth with the back of his filthy hand. Since the deaths of his parents when he’d seen ten and four summers, he’d never had any family … except Windwolf. Windwolf and the friends who’d fought and hunted beside him those many summers. An ache built in his belly and climbed into his chest.

He glanced back at the tunnel they’d opened between the chambers. He ought to crawl back through to his own chamber, but two rocks covered the entrance. It was Kakala’s order. They always rolled rocks over the entrance, coming or going. Kakala didn’t want the guards above to know how many warriors he had in here. Since it was too much effort to roll them aside by himself, he stayed put.

Kakala said to Keresa, “If you’re right that he only has a handful of real warriors and a gaggle of children playing at being warriors, we might have a chance if we …”

His voice went too low for Goodeagle to hear, but Keresa nodded and said, “We’ll have to wait until he lowers the ladder again and hope he only has a few guards posted.”

Goodeagle laughed; it was such a desperate sound that everyone turned in his direction. He said, “That moment will never come, Deputy. He will always have more warriors than necessary posted around this chamber. The greatest threat to his plans lies in here.”

“But the last time I was out I saw only—”

“Of course you didn’t see them,” he said. Then, as though speaking to a child, he leaned toward her and continued in a condescending voice, “He will never let you count his warriors. That would give you an advantage he doesn’t wish you to have. If he’s let you see ten warriors, he has three tens, maybe four. The instant you think you know what he’s doing, Deputy, you are dead.”

Keresa started to comment, but the rocks overhead grated shrilly. She hissed, “Goodeagle, get back to your own—”

He and two other warriors leaped to shove away the boulder that covered the entry to the next chamber. They moved it just enough for one warrior to slide through … then dawn light poured into the chamber as the rocks above them were rolled aside. Goodeagle and Mong froze, using their bodies to block the entrance.

Keresa shot Goodeagle a knowing glance, but kept her face blank.

Windwolf stood silhouetted against the dark blue sky—and looked Goodeagle right in the eye.

Goodeagle’s heart stopped dead in his breast; he dared not even to breathe. He saw the instant recognition. Windwolf’s expression hardened—painful remnants of old friendship mixed with hatred and silent questions of “why?”

Then Windwolf’s gaze turned emotionless and passed to Kakala.

Goodeagle sank back against the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths while he pretended to stare at the floor.

If Windwolf knew, why hadn’t he …

Blessed gods, he—he’s counting on me. He needs me.

“Kakala, Keresa,” Windwolf ordered, “we have a problem.”





Fifty-eight

Kakala dragged himself to his feet and held up a hand, shielding his eyes against the gleam that poured in. He counted four warriors with war clubs in their fists.

Standing above, looking down, Windwolf carried a dart.

“What do you want, Windwolf?”

“Both of you.”

The tall man’s jaw was clamped so hard, his entire face seemed skewed. Whatever this was, wasn’t good. Kakala straightened. “What for?”

“My scouts just reported that there’s a runner coming.”

“And you need my help to talk to a runner?”

Windwolf used the point of his dart to motion to every warrior in the chamber. “It’s a Nightland runner. I need all of you on your feet. Hurry. We haven’t much time.”

Kakala nodded to his warriors and said, “We’re hurrying. Don’t get nervous.”

His warriors glanced at each other, obviously thinking the same thing he was—that this might be their chance. Keresa subtly held out five fingers, meaning “There are five of them.” He nodded. Granted, Windwolf’s people had weapons, but if the right opportunity arose …