People of the Thunder(29)

Moments later, a slave entered bearing steaming plates of bear meat and sweetened corn gruel. Flying Hawk, however, no longer had an appetite.





Seven


The air inside the sweat lodge was close, dark, and hot with steam. Smoke Shield reached into the water bowl and cast droplets onto the hot rocks. After two days of hard play, his team was beginning to look like more than a bunch of overgrown boys with racquets. The passing was better and catches were made with grace instead of looking like a poor attempt at swatting mosquitoes.

Why couldn’t they have looked this good in the game?

The problem was that Fast Legs was still missing. Obviously he had hidden Red Awl’s body successfully. The Albaamaha would have combed that entire area as surreptitiously as possible at their first opportunity. Smoke Shield would have heard rumors of the wailing and funeral processions. At least Fast Legs had done that much. So, why . . . ?

“Smoke Shield?” his uncle’s stern voice called from outside. “Are you there?”

Smoke Shield made a face. How often in the past had he heard that tone in the old man’s voice? Now, what? Another lecture about how the wise always kept a little something in reserve in case Power didn’t favor them that day?

He sighed, collected himself, and stepped out into the cold day. It only took a glance to see that this was more than a gambling lecture. “What’s wrong?”

“Red Awl,” Flying Hawk said coldly. “Do you wish to become high minko someday, or just remain a buffoon for the rest of your life?”

He felt his heart begin to pound. “Do not call me a buffoon, Uncle. Buffoons don’t take towns like White Arrow without losing a warrior.”

“Fast Legs has been captured by the Albaamaha. They are holding him somewhere outside of Bowl Town. At least that’s Sun Falcon’s guess. It seems our Fast Legs was trying to kill Lotus Root. You remember her? The Albaamo woman who bit you on the lip while you were warming your ridiculous throbbing shaft inside her?”

Smoke Shield’s heart began to hammer. Fast Legs, you stupid imbecile!

“I want this taken care of,” Flying Hawk said, glancing toward the Men’s House to see who was within earshot.

“I will call the tishu minko, have him cry for the warriors and—”

“No.” Flying Hawk gestured at the Men’s House. “How many of your stickball players are in there? From the sound of it, nearly all?”

“Perhaps twenty.”

“Take them. Now. Cross the river and start up the west bank. As you reach Basswood Creek, spread them out. You need to sweep the entire forest like a game drive. Find Fast Legs, get him back, and kill the people holding him. Do it efficiently, mercilessly, and quickly. As soon as you do, find a way of disposing of the bodies. Bury them, burn them, sink them in the river. I don’t care. But I don’t want any evidence left behind. Then, when you are done, you leave as many warriors as Sun Falcon requires in Bowl Town.”

“But I can’t—”

“You could start this mess; now you can finish it.” He leveled the mace. “And if you cannot do this thing, and do it with the same brilliance you showed at White Arrow Town, I will tell the Council everything. How you ignored their will and spurned the direct orders of your high minko. Do not cross me this time, because by the blood of my brother, I will ruin you!”

Flying Hawk turned, stalking back toward the Great Mound.

Smoke Shield stood stupidly, a slow resentment beginning to burn in his chest. He stomped into the Men’s House, seeing his warriors lounging, smoking, dipping food from the pot of mashed beans and smilax root. “Get dressed. Get your weapons. We have work to do.”

“What work?” Greenbriar asked. “I was thinking we did pretty well today.”

“The Albaamaha are on the verge of revolt at Bowl Town. They have taken Fast Legs captive and are torturing him. I have just received our orders from the high minko. There is no time.”

He stared at their stunned faces, some holding food only halfway to their mouths.

“I said now,” he barked. “Move!”



The camp was a good one, as was indicated by the broken pottery, the ash-stained soil, and the old fired rock from countless hearths before theirs. The canoes were pulled up above flood stage if it rained hard upstream. Most of the grass had been mashed flat in the months since it had gone dormant in fall. Firewood necessitated a bit of a hike into the forest, but could be had for the taking once past the scavenged area.

The waterway consisted of a narrow winding channel that was deeply cut into the yellow soil. Most of the route was overhung with trees, branches, and vines. But as the major link between the Tenasee and Horned Serpent Rivers, enough traffic moved through that most of the offending logs, branches, and shrubbery had been cut away.