“I control—”
“Is that what you think?” She laughed at the man’s temerity. “What makes you think he would serve you?” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “You’re no doubt congratulating yourself on having drawn him away from Cimmis. Do you really think Coyote would choose to ally himself with a dead man?”
He barked a sharp if unsettled laugh. “You keep calling me that, and my heart keeps beating.”
She shrugged. “Even without your prompting, he would have killed Cimmis and Astcat sooner or later.”
Ecan’s face went ashen. “I would never—”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” She searched his eyes, seeing all the vainglorious arrogance welling behind them.
“Understand what?”
“The reason he took your payment, the reason he’ll kill Astcat and Cimmis in the end. You see the reason he left Evening Star alive is because he needs her to be his matron. When this is all over, he will be great chief!”
Sixty
From his place in the line of march, White Stone watched as Ecan staggered away from Dzoo. The Starwatcher stopped in the middle of the trail, his eyes focused on something in the distance. White Stone gazed curiously that way, but could only see Raven Bay, Gull Inlet, and the distant islands.
Dzoo, meanwhile, was looking down the slope ahead of them, where patches of firs grew. He followed her gaze first to the low rise to his left—at which she smiled for a time—then down to the grove of firs. Dzoo’s face turned stoic enough to have been carved from some pale hardwood.
White Stone lifted his war ax and called, “Hunter! Close up on the prisoner.” She wouldn’t think of trying to escape into those trees, would she?
As the procession continued plodding down the winding trail toward the trees, the ocean breeze mixed with scents of mud and damp firs to form a heady fragrance. The Four Old Women on their litters hissed questions to each other. Everything was going as planned, and they were ahead of schedule.
He watched his two lead scouts trot into the trees. He had almost forgotten Dzoo’s interest in the trees when two warriors in mangy hide capes charged out from the timber. A half heartbeat later, a screaming horde broke from cover. Keen obsidian points glinted on the tips of their spears.
White Stone shouted, “Get into position!”
Just as Cimmis had planned, three tens of spear throwers separated from the circle around the Four Old Women, and the men behind moved forward to take their places. The first group ran downhill to form a solid wall against the attackers.
The litter bearers quickly set their burdens down and huddled around the Council and the matrons accompanying the party.
All except Kaska, who stepped off her litter, shoved through the ring of guards, and looked down the slope at the Raven People. White Stone smiled at the thought of her confusion. By now, according to her plan, Sand Wasp should have been looking to her for orders.
Instead, the Salmon Village war chief stood tall, his jaw set, not two paces from White Stone. White Stone said, “Sand Wasp, have your warriors form a second line behind the first!”
“Yes, War Chief!”
For a moment, when he turned around, Sand Wasp’s gaze touched Kaska’s. The man seemed to freeze; then he motioned to his warriors. “You heard White Stone, form a second line!”
Three tens of Kaska’s warriors ran down the slope and knelt behind the first row of defenders.
“Ready!” White Stone called as the Raven People dashed up the slope, their spears over their heads. Casting uphill was risky at best, but on the run?
As they neared casting range, the Raven People split in half in a clumsy pincer movement.
Blessed gods, they’re fools! White Stone watched the ineffective tactic develop. The attacking warriors were panting from their long run up the hill. Worse, their formation was disintegrating as they scrambled over the rough hillside.
White Stone filled his lungs. “First line, cast!”
Sunlight flashed down the polished shafts as the spears arced into the sky, seemed to hover like birds for a few eternal instants, then plunged down.
The lethal missiles met flesh; the screams began—ragged, breathless. At least half of the Raven People fell. Most writhed on the ground, trying to jerk the shafts of wood and stone from their bodies. Some stood dumbfounded, staring at the carnage. Others threw down their weapons and ran, but a few kept coming.
The few enemy spears gleamed as though afire as they lanced through the sky. Three of the throwers in the first line went down. Then two more.
“Second line, cast!” White Stone ordered.
Kaska’s warriors took aim and threw.
White Stone turned to look at Dzoo. She stood tall, utterly unafraid, watching the battle. Cimmis had hoped that by leaving Dzoo out front, it might stem the ardor of the enemy spear throwers. The great chief had apparently miscalculated.