“Great Chief?” Deer Killer asked, his voice tight with fear.
“What?”
The warrior held up the spear as Hunter attended to his wounded hip. “The point, Great Chief. I think it’s still inside. The binding gave way.”
Cimmis blinked, staring at the end of the spear. Although blood-soaked, he could see the broken sinew that had once held a keen stone point. “Men have lived with points in them before.”
He almost bit his tongue as Hunter pulled the makeshift bandage tight. Gasping and sweating, he asked, “How is the fighting going?”
Deer Killer turned his attention from the spear to the fighting below. “Our warriors are after them. I think it was just a small party.”
“Yes, well, there will be a larger one waiting. Call up Kaska’s warriors and be ready for a counterattack. If I know Rain Bear, this won’t be as easy as it was at the burned ridge.”
Rain Bear led his forces to meet the howling North Wind warriors, leaping brush and deadfall, bursting through the tall grass. The spears of the enemy glinted like tens of membranous wings.
When they were within thirty paces, the voices of his men rose to a roar. Spears whistled by as his warriors cried out with the thrill of battle or shrieked in pain. He saw gaps in his line after the North Wind warriors cast their first volley—but he kept going, leading his men headlong into the North Wind warriors. They met with a clattering of spears, wild shouts, screams, and howls.
A tall North Wind warrior headed straight for Rain Bear, his mouth wide open in a scream of rage.
Rain Bear drove a spear through his chest. All around him men clashed in a snarling, grunting chaos.
He waded into a tangle of North Wind warriors and brought his club down hard on a man’s head. The warrior fell like a limp strand of sea grass.
“Rain Bear!” Wet Fern shouted. “Behind you!”
He leaped sideways as a club smashed into his left shoulder. Pain staggered him, and the North Wind warrior whooped in victory as he lifted his club to finish the job. Rain Bear ducked the blow meant for his head and broke his attacker’s ribs. The man’s breath shot from his lungs in a loud whoosh.
Rain Bear’s next blow took him squarely in the chest. Amid the screaming and shouting, he barely heard the man’s breastbone crack.
The familiar odor of battle permeated the air: a powerful mixture of sweat and the coppery tangs of blood and torn intestines.
Rain Bear pushed himself up the hill. He could see White Stone. The war chief stood like a sun-bronzed statue, his face stern as he shouted orders. Dzoo was poised slightly behind him, her long red hair blowing around the dark frame of her hood. Where was Pitch? Ecan?
And in that instant, the North Wind line broke, went tumbling back. Warriors dropped their weapons to flee up the hill. Rain Bear shouted in triumph, knowing that this single greatest victory would have to be surrendered.
“We can take them!” Talon bellowed as he smacked his war club into the back of a fleeing man’s spine. The warrior staggered. Before he could fall, Talon split his skull.
“No!” Rain Bear cried. “Follow the plan! You must follow the plan!”
He might have been a whisper in a gale. His warriors went charging past him, heading up the hill.
“No! Do not do this! You are making the same mistake Bluegrass did!”
“Bluegrass led cowards!” Three Shells bellowed in reply as he charged headlong up the hill. Rain Bear watched as Three Shells ran down a straggler, beating the man’s head in with a stroke of his club. “For War Gods Village!”
“For War Gods Village!” The cry was picked up by the charging warriors.
On the ridgetop War Chief White Stone separated from the group of warriors that surrounded the Four Old Women and strode forward, shouting orders.
“Back!” Rain Bear shouted after his warriors. “Come back! Follow the plan!”
A few of the Sandy Point warriors glanced at White Stone, longing in their eyes, but instinctively moved closer to Rain Bear.
The others rushed past, their excitement a living thing. He could feel it creeping through his own blood like tiny worms. Every fiber in his being cried to follow, to take the fight to Cimmis.
“Hold!” he ordered his remaining warriors. “We’ve got to prepare. They’ve got their blood up now, but they’ll be headed back soon.”
“But great chief!” one of the warriors cried. “If we don’t support them, they’ll be killed.”
He stomped toward the men, anger building. “Yes! They will, unless we devise a plan to save them!” He thrust out his club. “You and you, into that patch of brush. Robin, I want you and others to take cover in that patch of fir trees.” He searched their frantic eyes, knowing he was about to lose them to the fever of combat. Imploring, he asked, “Do you remember the plan?”