"It'll be like shooting netted geese!" Elkhom smiled in desperate relief, grateful to be taking action. "I'll do it." He quickly backed away and began to crawl toward the nearest warriors.
Badgertail lay alone, dread throbbing in his veins. As night came on, the fires outside the palisade shone clearly. Although Petaga's warriors were tirelessly carrying water, it was not enough. The northern cornfields gleamed red-orange, while moonlight silvered the spirals of smoke rising from the devastated squash fields to the west. A thick smudge of black straggled languidly across the cloud-strewn sky. Lightning had been flickering here and there—nothing more than a vague threat of rain.
He inhaled, and his nose stung with the smoke that pervaded the air.
Below him, warriors flitted through webs of sparkflies like nighthawks in search of mice. Petaga's attack had been relentless, brutal, throwing wave after wave at the palisades; yet all of Petaga's warriors seemed fresh and alert.
He can afford to spell the tired and replace the wounded.
You can't. Badgertail had warriors with arm and leg wounds still at their positions, functioning as best they could.
He balled a fist and slammed it repeatedly into the platform. Only when the pain drove him to stop did he look up and see Nightshade climbing the ladder toward him.
Forty-five
Petaga leaned his shoulder against the creek bank where they had established camp. He watched ash twirl and tumble out of the sky, alighting on the tepid brown water. The roar of the fires and the screams of battle had risen to such a clamor that he could hear nothing else.
He tried to contain his nervousness. Clouds had moved in suddenly and blanketed the sky with a silver-tinged wall of black that reflected the flames with a torrid glory. Lightning flashed.
Petaga turned to examine Hailcloud and Spoonbill, both of whom sat beside him in the shadowed niche. Spoonbill looked on with his usual infinite patience, but Hailcloud's jaw had set as he studied the final assault on the palisades, his fingers steepied over his mouth. The team of four had been hacking away at the palisade poles for over a hand of time while dozens of warriors provided covering fire. Badgertail's people dared not expose themselves to that constant barrage. Those who had been so bold had fallen quickly.
Farther down the bank, dark forms dipped baskets into the water, then awkwardly ran back to the fields to dump them. The Horn Spoon Clan had been working tirelessly, but they had been able to save only a few paltry patches of com. The land is so dry. The flames move with the speed of Eagle.
Anxiety gnawed at Petaga. Aloda's angry words echoed in his memory: "Maybe I should just disband my village now. Eh, Petaga? It will happen in the end anyway!"
How many people had this war left homeless? Thousands. Would they come back? Petaga would make them come back. He'd find a way.
"They're almost through, my Chief." Hailcloud pointed at the small crack of light that showed through the ax hole in the palisade wall. "I think we should fire the buildings now."
"Do you really think that Badgertail has enough warriors left to mount a defensive action when we rush through? I hate to bum the temple unless we have to." Even though Tharon's presence tainted it, Petaga could not help but believe that such an act would further anger the gods.
The lines around Hailcloud's eyes pulled tight. In the orange gleam, his face seemed molded of hard clay. "It's never wise to underestimate Badgertail."
"Then so be it. Give the order."
Hailcloud put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Spoonbill, go and tell Basswood to begin firing the houses within the palisades. Hopefully, the fires will carry sparks to the roof of the temple. If Badgertail has positioned people on the Temple Mound, the fire should divert their attention from us."
"Yes, Father." Spoonbill dashed away through the darkness.
A few more moments, that's all.
Excitement and fear thrilled Petaga's soul. If Tharon and Badgertail had not been killed in the fighting, then Petaga would soon have them.
Flaming arrows arced across the blackness. Screams rose on the tortured air as the missiles dropped on the defenders. Other arrows landed in houses. Tongues of fire leaped into the sky beyond the palisade, as though possessing a malignant life of their own.
Over the crackling din of the flames, Petaga heard a new sound, shrill, as though a hundred people had suddenly gasped in unison.
He looked westward, down the creek. The warriors who had taken refuge along the bank suddenly rose and scattered.
Petaga started to stand. "What ..."
Hailcloud gripped his shoulder and pulled him down again into a safe position. But Petaga's gaze kept searching. As the warriors fled, leaving an empty swath near the water, he thought he saw a long robe dancing in the wind.