Dry grass crackled on the other side of the creek.
Badgertail's gut crawled with fear. Holding his breath, he swiveled his head. Cane and goldenrod rose in dense patches, their stalks weaving a thick curtain above Flaxseed's corpse. Badgertail's muscles trembled as if dozens of bows had just been aimed at his vulnerable back.
More crackling. Then a twig snapped.
"Badgertail?"
Relief vied with terror. It could be a friend, but how many warriors would love to be the hero to capture Badgertail? In the cane field, at least four ghostly figures loomed, bending the stalks with their movements.
A man emerged from the vegetation, but his identity lay hidden in shadow. "Badgertail? It's Flute. Hurry! I've got three other warriors with me. We've found a way in."
We must strike now!" Gopher insisted from his place at the council fire. His silver-shot black hair had gone greasy in the past few days. Dirt puttied the lines of his weathered face as though a thick gray spiderweb had been plastered to his skin. His bushy brows pulled together as he readjusted the filthy blanket over his shoulders. "There they are! We've got three of Badgertail's war parties sitting just outside of One Mound Village and our own forces positioned perfectly around them. What more could we ask for?"
''Six war parties," Petaga pointed out softly. "From what our runners say, the other parties have vanished. Which means that they didn't fall for our strategy. Elkhom worries me the most. Where is he?"
"What difference does it make?" Gopher shouted. "Three war parties total only two hundred and fifty warriors. We'll be able to crush them easily!"
The twenty-two members of the council whispered to each other, either shaking their heads in disagreement or nodding fervently. Most of them were old men and women who had joined the fight just to be able to say that they had been on this great battle-walk, a battle-walk that would forever change the face of their world.
Petaga gazed up at the sky while the elders considered. Thick fingers of cloud stroked the face of the crescent moon. They had dispatched war parties to surround One Mound Village, then moved their main camp a half-day's walk northward before resettling in a deep hollow that gouged the highlands. The hollow provided protection from enemy eyes and had a spring in the bottom that not only gave them water, but an occasional duck for dinner.
Moonlight fell over hundreds of warriors where they lay sleeping with weapons in limp hands. Their oblong shadows stretched across the bare gray stone. Somewhere in the maze of bodies, a man snored raggedly.
Petaga cast a glance at Spoonbill, who sat beside him, his calm, clear gaze roving the council. Though he was only fifteen, Spoonbill acted much older. His sallow face and washed-out brown eyes always remained patient and attentive, even in the worst of situations. Tall for his age, Spoonbill had not filled out yet, leaving him as scrawny as a water-starved reed. He had received his first warrior's haircut just before this battle-walk and had proudly woven two small shell beads into his forelocks. The long warshirt, with the image of Eagle on the chest, was still almost clean. Petaga suspected that Spoonbill took great pains to keep it that way.
Warmth grew inside the Moon Chief. He had spent most of last night talking to Spoonbill, working out his worries so that he had them straight in his own mind. He had learned that he could rely on Spoonbill for solid advice with almost as much confidence as he had in Hailcloud.
"Why not? Tell me!" Gopher pressed. He thrust out his jaw pugnaciously. "We planned on attacking tomorrow. Who objects?"
"I do," Petaga said.
Gopher grunted. "What do you think? That Elkhom is going to miraculously appear out of nowhere with a thousand warriors behind him? Be realistic. He probably glimpsed our forces and ran off into the hills with his tail between his legs."
Spoonbill straightened his back and quietly noted, "I know Elkhom. He fought with my father cycles ago. He's not a coward. If he did spot our forces, we could be in more trouble than we know."
"How's that, young whelp?"
Unaffected by the slight, Spoonbill continued in a mild voice. "I suspect that Badgertail left a few hundred warriors to guard Cahokia. It wouldn't be farfetched to assume that if Elkhom has counted our numbers, he may have gone back to call the others into battle."
"And leave Cahokia unguarded?" Gopher challenged him. "Ridiculous!"
"Don't be an idiot," Mother Sassafras said as she rocked forward on her cracking knees to warm her hands over the flames. Firelight flickered on the human fingerbone beads that formed chevrons across the blue fabric of her dress. Down her sleeves, the drilled canine teeth of wolves were interspersed with tiny seashells. "Spoonbill is right. If Elkhom knows for certain that we are here, there's no reason to leave those forces idle at Cahokia. Of course he would recmit them. What do you think. Spoonbill? Perhaps he could get another two or three hundred warriors if he did that?"