“They’re not warriors,” Fast Legs replied. “I say we forget caution. The important thing is to find them before they reach the river.”
Together they sprinted down the trail. How long had it been? Smoke Shield’s practiced eye read the tracks. Some, in patches of sunlight, were already melting out. The woman ran easily. The man however, was dragging, stumbling, drops of blood spattering here and there. They were nothing more than pink splotches in the melting snow.
Smoke Shield paused where the man had fallen, then struggled to rise. The woman had come back to help him. “He’s weak,” Smoke Shield noted before resuming the chase. How much lead did they have? Judging from the tracks, at least a hand of time. But the rapidly melting snow masked the usual clues a tracker would use.
Smoke Shield led the way, careless that his prey might have circled to lay an ambush. At the speed he was running, there was a good chance a weak man, even a good hunter, would miss a shot. And Red Awl was weak. Another bare spot showed where he had fallen.
“He has lost a lot of blood,” Fast Legs decided. “Running has opened some of the wounds.” Looking closely, Smoke Shield could see clots of it. The surface had dried, crinkling. The quarry had a good lead.
“We have to run,” Smoke Shield ordered. “They’re farther down the trail than I would have thought.”
Curse it! How could I have slept through their escape ? A building rage lent strength to his muscles as he pounded down the trail. He slipped on the muddy ground, scrambled for purchase, and regained his feet, running harder.
He noted impressions in the mud where the Albaamaha had slithered and slid as well. The marks where Red Awl had fallen were coming at ever-greater frequencies.
Please, great gods, tell me he has passed out again! The woman wouldn’t be able to do more than drag her unconscious husband along.
Hope began to rise between Smoke Shield’s souls. There was a chance. Gods, why hadn’t he thought to cripple the man last night? Cut his tendons, and he’d never have made it this far.
They slithered down a steep slope where the soil was mostly clay, and found better footing in the leaf mat. Here the snow was reduced to patches, the flat having a slight southern exposure. Which way? The canoe landing. If they haven’t reached there, we can circle back, pick up the trail, and hunt them down.
He was panting, running easily now that his muscles had warmed. The desperation of the chase sent a thrill down his bones. Yes, he would catch them. Another bloody patch marked the man’s latest fall. The leaves here were disturbed as if stone-clad feet had stumbled through.
Back in snow again, the tracks looked fresher, and Smoke Shield fought the urge to whoop with glee. They would catch them; he just knew it!
He bounded down onto the old river terrace, and sprinted along the winding trail. Drag marks in the leaves and snow, coupled with deeply imprinted tracks, showed that the woman was pulling Red Awl now.
“I’ve got you!” He raced forward, catching glimpses of the river’s far bank through the maze of tree trunks. He almost overran the place where Lotus Root had dragged the man off to the side, then scattered leaves to hide the fact.
Smoke Shield skidded to a halt, crouching, panting for breath as he stared into the trees. Fast Legs, a stone’s throw behind, slowed, crouched, and took cover behind a thick gum trunk, his careful eyes peering into the forest.
Smoke Shield slipped from tree to tree, and stopped. He signaled Fast Legs to sneak around to the side. A man’s form—leaned against the far side of a beech—didn’t move, but Smoke Shield could see a muddy foot. That had to be Red Awl.
He waited, glancing this way and that. Where had the woman gotten to?
“War Chief,” Fast Legs called, “he looks dead.” Fast Legs approached warily, his bow drawn, alert for any movement.
Smoke Shield eased forward, eyes scanning the silent forest for any sign of ambush. Where is that four-times-cursed woman?
“Dead,” Fast Legs asserted.
Smoke Shield hurried forward, crouching by the dead Albaamo. He touched Red Awl’s neck, feeling cold flesh. The man’s eyes had begun to dry, the pupils in the first stages of gray. As Smoke Shield raised the man’s arm, it felt loose. “Not dead long. Perhaps a hand of time?”
He turned, staring at the trees. “Where is the woman?”
Fast Legs studied the ground around them. Most of the snow was melted, stripelike patches here and there in the shadows of the trees. “There.” He pointed at a partial track. “Canoe landing, I’d say.”
“Remember, she still has my bow and arrows.”
“Even if she reached the canoe landing, she can’t have gone far. We’ll split up. I’ll go upstream while you head down.” Fast Legs added, “It would be better if you were seen in Split Sky City sooner rather than later. If she’s hiding among her people at Bowl Town, I’ll get her in the end.”