Tsak waited with the finality of a man doomed. As they came close, he could recognize Astcat’s bearers: Gispaxloat, Kitselas, and the Raven warriors. And behind them, yes, that was Matron Evening Star, whom he had thought a fugitive; and there was the Soul Keeper, Rides-the-Wind, also supposedly with the Raven People at Sandy Point Village. The first tingling of unease grew within him. Especially as he got a good look at the hard-jawed ranks of warriors coming behind.
“Please lower the litter,” he called, reaching for his war club. “I want to see Matron Astcat for myself.”
Gispaxloat nodded to his companions, and they carefully eased the litter to the ground. Kitselas pulled a corner of the ornate blanket back to expose the matron’s lax face.
“Her soul has fled,” Rides-the-Wind said as he stepped forward. “We would like to take Astcat to her new lodge as quickly as possible.”
Tsak hesitated. “Matron Evening Star? I thought you were Outcast?”
“Enslaved,” she said bitterly. “It’s not quite the same thing.” She tilted her head toward the litter. “The great matron has seen fit to reinstate me.”
Tsak glanced at Gispaxloat, but the stern warrior betrayed nothing. “And you, Soul Keeper? Is it true that you were staying among the Raven People?”
Rides-the-Wind thrust his face uncomfortably close. “Is it true, Tsak, that you’re going to keep us waiting out here answering stupid questions while the Great Astcat is in need of shelter, food, and water?”
“But these warriors?” He indicated the hard-eyed warriors who had formed a knot on the trail behind them. They looked nervous as they fingered their weapons and appraised him with wolfish eyes.
“Are the protective escort for the great matron,” Evening Star said hotly. “If you’re not going to allow us entry, let us know so we can tell Chief Cimmis to turn the entire procession around and send it back to Fire Village.”
“He’s close?”
“A hand or two behind us. Cimmis deemed it important to bring the great matron ahead.” She crossed her arms, those imperious blue eyes narrowing.
He hesitated for a moment, some voice of warning crying out inside him. But it made sense. If Astcat was incapacitated Cimmis would want her stowed away somewhere out of sight.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered. “Go on. Inside, all of you.” He turned his attention to the warriors. “Who is in charge here?”
A wiry young man in a torn cloak, mud-spattered moccasins, and grimy war shirt stepped forward. “I am war chief.”
“Camp your men just inside the gate. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”
Gispaxloat had already raised Astcat’s litter. And so it was that she, her party, and Sleeper’s five tens of warriors were ushered past Wasp Village’s gate, War Chief Tsak trotting at their heels.
On the ridge above Gull Inlet, Dogrib experienced fear like he had never known it. His mouth was dry, his hands damp. His skin crawled as alternately fear-sweat beaded on it or shivers traced patterns across it. He hated the runny feeling in his bowels. His jaw was clamped so hard his cheeks were spasming.
He had hidden himself and four other men in a patch of raspberries just off the Wasp Village trail. They had burrowed down into the old musty leaves, thorns scratching and burning any exposed skin. He and his warriors now waited, each locked in his thoughts as the long moments passed.
He heard them coming, talking among themselves. Then came the moment of greatest terror. The North Wind scouts jabbed halfheartedly at the brush while, huddled in the center, Dogrib and his warriors shivered.
And then they passed.
Dogrib exhaled the terrible tension from his body and grinned at his companions through a hole in the thorns.
White Stone had commanded superb discipline at the burned ridge. When he broke Bluegrass’s attack, most of his warriors had stood firm, refusing to break formation. Now, everything depended on Dogrib, on his ability to break that control.
Dogrib lifted his head, wary of exposing his white hair. Through the tangle, he could see Great Chief Cimmis walking beside Dzoo and White Stone. In that moment, he saw what fate had granted him. Cimmis …
His heart hammering like thunder, he wet his lips. Let them come closer.
Wait. Just wait. That’s it.
Then, as they were almost even, he rose, shouting, “Now!”
He cast, putting all of his body behind the atlatl as it catapulted his finest spear. The missile flew true, as if drawn toward Cimmis’s heart …
White Stone was caught completely by surprise. With one arm he shoved Cimmis, and slapped out with his other, touching the shaft, deflecting it at the last instant. It was enough. The spear meant for Cimmis’s heart drove deeply into the bone of the old man’s hip.