Kwahseti stood beside her in front of their fire. They had not spoken in a while, but she could hear Kwahseti’s ragged breathing.
“Who is that?” Kwahseti asked, and pointed at a man running hard along the western edge of the battlefield. The blue and yellow shapes on his cape had blurred to a green smear.
“I can’t tell.”
“Qonde, maybe? Isn’t that his cape?”
Zateri shook her head like a woman trying to get rid of a deafening ringing in her ears. The runner swerved wide around the battle, holding his white arrow over his head for all to see.
“It is Qonde; I’m sure of it. What does he want?”
Zateri pulled her gaze from Hiyawento’s broad back long enough to glance at Kwahseti. The Riverbank Village matron’s face had flushed. Short hair lay wetly against her forehead and curved down over her cheeks, wreathing her dark eyes like gray paint.
When Qonde finally made his way around the battle and trotted up the hill to the west, two sentries grabbed hold of his arms, searched him for weapons, and escorted him the rest of the way.
Kwahseti’s jaw set. “It can’t be an offer of surrender. Atotarho would never give up so easily. His huge pride—” She stopped short and her eyes flew open. “Who’s that? Blessed ancestors, are those Flint People?”
Zateri swung around to stare, and Taya hurried forward with her long black hair swaying around her slender waist. She was so pretty. “They came! I don’t believe it!”
“What do you mean?”
Taya whirled to face Zateri. “Matron Jigonsaseh went to Flint country to ask them to form an alliance with us to fight Atotarho.”
Zateri breathlessly watched the tall woman in the lead. There was something … “Oh.” She put a hand to her lips as tears constricted her throat. “That’s Baji. Baji and Chief Cord.”
As though time had mysteriously reversed, Zateri found herself sitting in a birch bark canoe twelve summers ago, with Baji’s strong arms around her. The moonlit night had been quiet and cold. Mist hovered just above their heads, slithering along the course of the river. She could see it all again. War Chief Koracoo had paddled in front, and War Chief Cord in the rear of the canoe. “I am your friend forever,” Baji had said, and tightened her arms around Zateri. Tears had filled Zateri’s eyes, for it had been the first time in moons that she’d felt truly safe.
The same feeling stole over Zateri now. It was irrational, even ludicrous, in light of everything happening on the battlefield, but she couldn’t help it.
She watched as Baji dispatched a runner to Hiyawento, probably to announce herself and her intentions—so Hiyawento wouldn’t mistakenly turn his forces on Baji’s.
Though it wasn’t necessary. Both Hiyawento and Sky Messenger were staring at Baji where she stood on the eastern hilltop. They had recognized her instantly, just as Zateri had.
When her runner returned, Baji led her forces down onto the battlefield. There had to be six or seven hundred Flint warriors. Ecstatic roars went up from Hiyawento’s warriors, and on the far side of the field, Jigonsaseh’s warriors whooped. They had Atotarho’s forces completely surrounded.
“Chief Cord from Wild River Village?” Kwahseti asked.
“Yes,” Zateri replied, and when she turned to look at Kwahseti, she noticed that Taya’s young eyes had riveted on Baji.
Taya straightened. With dignity, she asked, “She’s a war chief? Not just a warrior?”
“Apparently. I didn’t know it myself until just now.”
Taya seemed to wilt.
As the sentries shoved Qonde toward Zateri and Kwahseti, the man clutched his white arrow in both hands.
“What is it?” Kwahseti asked.
“I bring a message for Matron Zateri. Your father asks for a short truce so that he might speak with you.”
“Why?” Kwahseti demanded to know.
“He did not give me that information, Matron Kwahseti.”
Kwahseti turned to Zateri. “Perhaps now that he’s doomed he wants to negotiate with the rightful leader of the Wolf Clan and the nation?”
Zateri ground her teeth while she gazed across the battlefield. As the mist eddied, her father’s black cape appeared and disappeared. He couldn’t negotiate. He had to win. If he didn’t, he would no longer be the chief of Atotarho Village. In fact, the clan mothers would strip him of his name. He wouldn’t even be Atotarho. The name would be taken back and eventually given to someone more deserving.
Zateri said, “Tell my father there is nothing to discuss.”
Qonde’s heart seemed to sink. His expression sagged, but he bowed. “Very well, Matron.”