People of the River(161)

"I hope he did. It would have been prudent." So he probably didn't.

Badgertail had to get to Tharon quickly to explain the situation. His gut roiled. He dreaded Tharon's rage more than Petaga's militar>' strength. What would Tharon do? Order him killed on the spot? ... He might.

Wanderer mumbled something, and Vole responded, "I pray you're right. But what if she's not? I've been feeling something. Wanderer. Some terrible—"



"I know, so have I." His voice returned to a low drone.

As they stepped onto the paths that led through the Blue Blanket Clan's section, dogs ran out of houses to yap at their heels. A haze of indigo smoke draped lazily around the tops of the mounds; it smelled brittle and musty.

Firebowls lit luminous lines around window and door hangings—^but few voices echoed, and those that did were hushed. Occasionally, a hanging would be pulled back and eyes would peek out at them as they passed.

Normally at this time of year, people would have been sitting outside, laughing and talking, throwing sticks for the dogs, until the nightly chill drove them inside.

Badgertail picked up his pace, hurrying to reach the western gate. When he got close enough, he broke into a trot, and the warriors on the platforms saw him.

"Badgertail! It's Badgertail! Look!”

His name swept through the ranks like a tornado. He rounded the comer of the last house and ran head-on into a pack of warriors racing out to meet him. Elkhom broke through the crowd to hug Badgertail so hard that it drove the air from his lungs.

"Thank Father Sun," Elkhom said. "We feared you were dead. Locust told us about Red weed, but after the thrashing we took—"

"How is Locust?" he couldn't help but ask. "She and Cloudshadow made it back all right?"

A roar of talk built around Badgertail as a hundred hands thrust through the tangle of bodies to clasp him. He made every attempt to clasp each one in turn while he watched Elkhom's face darken.

"What is it, Elkhom? Is it Locust? Tell me."

"She's all right ... I mean, physically." Elkhom ran a hand through his bristly ridge of hair and began leading the way toward the open gate. The swarm of hooting warriors followed. "I had to post four guards on her house, Badgertail. She's . . . I've never seen her so enraged. She tried to storm the temple, alone ... to kill the Sun Chief. It took three warriors to stop her, even with her wounds. At first, well, I thought it was her fever. You understand, I thought it had driven her mad."

Badgertail stopped before the gate. "Say what you mean. What drove her to this?"

Elkhom looked like he had swallowed something sour. "The Sun Chief captured Primrose while we were out on the battle-walk. Apparently, he ... he tortured him."

Tortured? Badgertail's heart skipped, his blood pounding in sudden anger. He wondered how three warriors could have stopped her. "Take Wanderer and Vole inside. Hold them by the gate until I retum."

"Certainly, but where are you—"

"I'll be at Locust's. Give me two fingers of time." Badger-tail ran with all his might, winding down the empty path that fronted the palisades.

Memories flitted at the edge of his soul, memories of Locust's rage. Once a stupid trader from Yellow Star Mounds had dared to laugh and belittle Primrose about the dress he wore. Locust had moved so fast that Badgertail had been unable to stop her. She had leveled a kick to the trader's groin that crumpled him to the ground, then landed a knee in the middle of his chest and dimpled his throat with her stiletto before he had even finished laughing. It had taken Badgertail a full hand of time to convince her not to kill the man. Locust had been angry with Badgertail for a week; she couldn't sleep for wishing that she had killed him.

Badgertail slowed to a trot when Locust's white-plastered house came into view. Comsore and Puffball guarded the front entrance, both of them warriors of repute and special friends of Locust's. Good thinking on Elkhom's part. Even if she did try to fight her way out, she probably wouldn't kill them.

Relief crossed Puffball's craggy face when Badgertail came to a halt. Pathetic cries carried from inside.

Puffball stepped forward and clasped Badgertail's hand in a powerful grip. Worry lined his high forehead like the deep wrinkles worn into the bluffs by cycles of wind and rain.

"Is she all right?" Badgertail asked quietly.

Puffball shook his head. "Her fever's worse. She refuses to see any healers . . . though Checkerberry has been taking care of her."

Badgertail clapped Puffball on the shoulder before greeting Comsore and stepping up to the door-hanging. "Locust? May I enter?"

"Badgertail! Yes, thank First Woman, come in."

He ducked beneath the hanging and entered the pale amber glow of a single firebowl. Locust sat in the rear of the room on a pile of blankets with Primrose—sobbing—sprawled on the floor with his head in her lap. The curtain of his long