Jewelry flashed, catching the moonlight as the Lame Bull People passed up and down the trails that laced their rocky warren together. He could hear the pleasant clicking of shell bracelets and anklets, and see the sparkle of buffalo-horn earpins, and mammoth-ivory pendants.
“You will take your warriors and run south to Headswift Village.” Nashat’s order still rang in his ears. “Rumors among the Sunpath say that Windwolf is headed there. No matter what, War Chief, you find him. Either bring me Windwolf, or bring me his head.”
Kakala had stared in disbelief, pointing at his exhausted warriors, explaining how half had already gone to their families’ lodges.
“Take what you have. And go now!” The order had been explicit.
So here he was, with a handful of exhausted warriors, staring at a bristling village.
“Keresa?” he called softly. “How long has he been in there?”
She sprawled on a boulder to his left, having a better view of the warriors who guarded the hole where the man they thought was Windwolf had gone to ground.
Her soft voice was little more than a whisper. “It’s been a hand of time since Maga and Goodeagle saw him enter. Chief Lookingbill just came down to meet him.”
“Maga?” he called softly.
“Over here, War Chief.” The youth lifted his head.
“Keep an eye on him.” Kakala wriggled back through the prickly roses, trying to keep the thorns from rasping on his clothing. He caught Keresa’s eye and motioned her back.
Together they crouched, winding down through the boulders to where the rest of their warriors waited in the bottom of a spruce-lined gully. Exhausted, they had gratefully accepted the opportunity to throw themselves on the rocky bottom of the drainage. Most, he noted, were already fast asleep, heedless of the uncomfortable rocks they lay on. That they could sleep so, and just out of dart range of an enemy village, was proof enough of their fatigue.
“What do you think?” Keresa asked as they crouched in the darkness.
“I think I don’t like it,” Kakala muttered. He tensed his muscles, rolling his shoulders, fighting the lethargy that sucked at his very bones. “Nashat was out of his mind to send us. We were tired before we were ordered on this raid. We’ve covered a seven-day trip in four.”
Keresa gave him a weary smile. “Would you rather he’d sent Karigi?”
“I remember the last time Karigi tried to trap Windwolf. No, but he could have sent either Blackta or Hawhak.”
“They weren’t there. We were.” Keresa glanced back in the direction where the man they thought was Windwolf had hidden in the rocks.
“And it was just luck we arrived when we did,” Kakala muttered. “If that’s Windwolf, and he’s talking to Lookingbill, it doesn’t bode well for us.”
“Neither does attacking the Lame Bull with a small party of warriors who are asleep on their feet!” she reminded. “Goodeagle swears it was Windwolf. I could hear the truth of it in his voice.”
“Yes, I know.” Goodeagle had sounded like a man condemned when he confirmed the stranger’s identity.
She was watching him with concerned eyes. “Nashat meant it when he said, ‘Don’t fail me, War Chief.’ If this doesn’t happen just right, he’s more than capable of putting you in a cage again.”
Kakala swallowed hard, nodding. His people could inflict no greater punishment. The miscreant was locked into a small wooden cage and left there for a moon or two. During that time, he was the object of derision and insults, and was often pelted with feces, urine, and trash. Kakala’s back and pride had ached for moons after his eventual release. Overcoming the stigma had taken half his life.
“I would really like to believe that Lookingbill has concocted some sort of trap. That he believes Nashat’s offer of protection for anyone who surrenders Windwolf to him.”
Keresa grunted.
“What? You don’t believe our clan leader, either?”
Keresa glanced at the sleeping warriors. Caution still guarded her tongue. “You know what I think of Nashat.”
Kakala couldn’t help but grin, weary as he was. “It’s not too late. You could still accept his offer.” He yawned. “Who knows? Sharing his blanket might not be that bad. You wouldn’t have to run yourself sick with fatigue. No one would drive a dart through your guts in some raid, and, well, given the number of women Nashat takes to his bed, he must have developed some little skill at pleasuring a woman.”
Her disgusted glare should have been answer enough, but she added, “The women who have been in Nashat’s bed say that the only pleasure is Nashat’s.” She shivered at the thought. “I’ll take a dart through the guts any day.”