The Broken Land(128)
Sihata smoothed white hair from her forehead. “There is one thing.” They all turned to listen. “She is the high matron’s granddaughter. She would make a fine hostage.”
A small tremor went through Kittle, but she didn’t think anyone noticed. She looked straight at Taya. “I won’t let them use you against us. Do you understand, Taya? If we do this, as of this moment, you are dead to me. No matter what they threaten, I will do nothing to save you.”
“I understand, Grandmother.” She gave Kittle a clear-eyed stare.
Kittle held her gaze for a long time before saying, “Promise them anything you have to. Hurry.”
“Take care of Gitchi for us?”
“Yes, of course.” Kittle put her hand on the wolf’s soft back and stroked it. “Stay with me, Gitchi.”
Taya grabbed her cape from where it rested beside the fire, rushed to the door curtain, and disappeared outside.
Kittle watched the leather curtain swing. Outside, she caught glimpses of children running, dodging falling arrows, followed by shouting warriors trying to herd them to safety.
Sihata threw another branch on the fire. As sparks rose into the smoky air of the longhouse, she tipped her wrinkled face up to watch them climb toward the smoke hole. She softly said, “I think she’ll make it. She has courage for one so young.”
Kittle replied, “Yes. She’ll make it. She has to.”
Fifty-four
War Chief Sindak clutched his nocked bow and turned to look back. A solid line stretched out across the valley behind him, coming on fearlessly. The other war chiefs were keeping tight control of their warriors, not an easy thing with the enemy fleeing before them. Good men and women, every one. Despite the heavy losses they were taking, they would hold it together long enough get into position around the villages. Then it would become a different fight. He wiped stinging sweat from his eyes and licked his chapped lips. Each village had three rings of palisades. Breaking through them would be even more costly in blood and time. Gods, he wished he didn’t have to do this. He wished it hadn’t come to this. War Chief Koracoo, now Matron Jigonsaseh, was an old ally. He did not wish to kill her, and that’s what would happen when they won. All of the matrons and chiefs would be lined up and their throats slit as their people watched. Atotarho had already given the order. “Leave the enemy headless. That way when we march the captives home, they will be lost, their souls too broken to cause us problems. We’ll pack their backs with every basket of food we can find, and they’ll bear their burdens without a word.”
Sindak frowned at where Chief Atotarho stood with his personal guards on the crest of the rocky ridge. He could just make them out in the shifting mist. The black flag of the Wolf Clan flew over his head.
Sindak turned back. A new roar and the clattering of war clubs rose when his forces cut through the third wave of archers and approached the last Standing Stone line waiting in the trees, their bows aimed, waiting. A roar went up. Elder Brother Sun, shining through the fog, cast an eerie diffuse light over the participants. Warriors’ faces—some painted, some tattooed—glowed bloodred as they appeared and disappeared in the mist. His forces pushed closer, closer. One of the enemy war chiefs shouted, and the archers let fly. At that range, if they could aim at all, they couldn’t miss. His stomach knotted as he watched hundreds of Hills warriors topple. They went down as though swathed by a huge flint scythe. The rest of his forces charged forward.
Most of the Standing Stone line broke and fled, but a portion of the line to the north held. Strong men and women. Good leadership to keep them in position while everyone else ran away. That wasn’t Koracoo herself out there, was it? Surely they wouldn’t let their new matron command, would they? No, he couldn’t imagine it. Gonda? A sad warmth filled Sindak. Yes, maybe. Gonda had warred with Koracoo for many summers. He knew her tactics well.
Sindak lifted a fist and turned to yell to the war chiefs behind him, “Keep your lines tight. We will strike the last of the northern line, then push for the villages.”
He yipped a shrill war cry and charged down into the battle, his warriors pounding the ground behind him.
As he ran, he gave the other war chiefs hand signals, and the whole line shifted northward, closing gaps, moving like one huge animal. It was beautifully done. Artwork. Even after the arrows began falling like a hail of stilettos, the line still moved steadily onward.
When they got closer, a few men stopped to fire back; then more stopped. Sindak shouted at their commanders. Too far. They were too far away. If they hit anything it would be sheer luck. Move. Keep them all moving. The terrifying sight of so many enemy warriors coming at them should send the Standing Stone warriors fleeing before they even arrived.