People of the Raven(98)

Tudab put a hand on Cimmis’s shoulder, trying to ease his mood. “We know your record, my Chief. Your complete dedication to the orders of the Council are what have placed you in such an important position. You lead by your example. You, Cimmis, are the Council’s strong right arm.”

Tudab, if you only knew. Where Astcat’s thoughts were the strong heartwood of our people, Old Woman North’s head might be filled with punk for all the sense I get out of it.

Tudab asked, “How many did we lose?”

“If that’s all of them, too many.”

“Some may have been captured. Perhaps we can arrange a Trade to get them back.”

“If any of our warriors were captured, they’re already dead.”

Tudab, a gentle little man, grimaced as though disturbed by the thought. “Is that what you would have done, my Chief?”

“Keeping captives costs too much, Tudab. You have to feed them; warriors must guard them. You never know when one will get desperate and jump for the closest guard’s throat. It’s safer to question them and kill them.”

Cimmis could see them more clearly now. At least three had been wounded. Two limped, and one man cradled an arm to his chest. “I do not understand why White Stone sent no more messages after the battle. He should have sent one message a day telling us the status of the war party. I will have to speak with my war chief. Apparently, he does not understand his duties.”

Tudab frowned. “I don’t see White Stone. Perhaps he was killed in the fighting.”

“Then my wrath will fall on Ecan. He should have sent the messages if White Stone couldn’t.”

Immediately after the battle, a message had been sent, signaling their victory. With White Stone dead, Ecan should have sent additional messages. Perhaps the captive had dulled his wits with her body. The thought of Ecan and his women was disturbing. Cimmis remained irritated by the mess Ecan and Kenada had made of Matron Evening Star’s captivity. They were to break and humiliate her as an example to the others, not turn her into a heroine for every malcontent within a moon’s journey.

Tudab interrupted his thoughts. “I just hope that our attack has dampened the Raven People’s ardor for war.”

“It has enflamed their hatred, Tudab, not dampened it.” That’s your beloved Council at work, you dolt. Without Astcat’s guidance, they’re sending us down the trail of eventual disaster.

Wind Woman flapped Tudab’s cape around his pudgy body as he turned to Cimmis. “I don’t understand. I thought we attacked War Gods Village to break the Raven People’s will. You said we were going to teach them they cannot hide from us. If they refuse to offer tribute, we can kill them anywhere and any time.”

“That’s what I said, but the Four Old Women had other reasons.” Cimmis studied Ecan’s captive. He thought he knew her, but couldn’t place her face. Red Hair? Gods, that wasn’t Evening Star, was it? No, this one was older, more … what? Stately?

“What reasons?”

A cold sprinkling of rain began to patter on the lodge roofs and on the back of Cimmis’s neck. He tugged up his hood. Tudab stood patiently awaiting an answer.

“Rain Bear’s forces grow by the day,” Cimmis said. “If we cannot force him to attack us soon with small war parties that we can eliminate, his forces will eventually move like a giant wave of locusts, destroying everything in their path. The Council is afraid the Raven People will wipe the North Wind People from the face of Our Mother Earth.”

Tudab’s mouth opened. Cimmis could see his coated tongue inside. Finally, he blurted, “Blessed gods, Cimmis! Have you spoken with the matron about this?”

“As you know, she’s been … away,” Cimmis said uncomfortably. “Besides, we will know soon enough. Rain Bear dislikes war, but when he must fight, he is swift to action.”

As his leather door hanging waffled in the wind, he caught glimpses of Astcat lying inside beneath a mound of hides. Kstawl knelt beside her.

His heart ached. She had been progressively growing worse. Every time she woke after being “away,” she begged Cimmis to tell her what had been going on.

Ecan’s group reached the central plaza fire, and the Starwatcher strode forward, his long white cape billowing around his tall body. How did he keep it so clean while on the trail?

The captive’s gaze lingered on the painted lodges.

“What’s she looking at?” Tudab asked.

“The paintings, I think.”

Then her eyes turned on Cimmis. His heart leaped. He couldn’t see her face—the sun was behind her and she had her hood up—but something about the way she held herself touched his memories.