Two warriors stepped from the trees. The first thing Gonda noticed was their empty quivers. Then he saw the men. The big bear of a man had a wide, heavy jaw and pink burn scars mottling his face and hands. He slitted his brown eyes menacingly. The other warrior was young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen summers. He had a catlike face, with a broad nose. Both men had to lock their trembling knees to keep standing.
“How long have they been chasing you?” Gonda dumped out the boiling bag, rolled it, and tucked it into his belt. Then he slung his pack over his shoulder and cautiously picked up his war club.
“For just a few hands of time, but we haven’t slept in two and a half days. Now, hurry, they’re coming.” Cord swung around to look up the mountain trail.
“How many are there?”
“Twenty. Maybe more.”
A faint far cry split the air, then was joined by a cacophony of yips and snarls that persisted for ten heartbeats before dying away.
Gonda’s skin crawled. “Wolf Clan.” He looked at Sindak and Towa, who were staring at the newcomers uncertainly. Gonda ordered, “Sindak, Towa, split your arrows. Give half to Cord’s men.”
Cord looked at him, taken aback.
As did Sindak, whose jaw dropped. “But Gonda, these are Flint People. Our sworn enemies.” Sindak had seen nineteen summers. Shoulder-length black hair framed his lean face. He was homely, with a hooked nose and deeply sunken brown eyes.
“Do it,” Koracoo ordered.
Sindak hissed something disparaging but unslung his quiver, counted the arrows, and walked forward to hand four of them to Cord, saying, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me in the back with my own arrows.”
Cord replied, “I only shoot cowards in the back.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, War Chief.” Sindak glared as he walked back to stand beside Towa.
Towa was a handsome youth, with waist-length black hair, a straight nose, and eyes like midnight. “Koracoo, are you sure about this? I don’t—”
Annoyed, Koracoo answered, “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Towa reluctantly pulled three arrows from his quiver and handed them to Cord, who distributed them.
With genuine gratitude, Cord said, “You go first with the children; we’ll cover the back trail,” and gestured to the path that led down the western slope of the mountain.
“Sindak, you lead,” Koracoo ordered. “Towa, follow him. Children, you’ll be next in line. Gonda and I will be behind the child—”
Sindak interrupted, “Cord and his men should run in front where we can watch them, War Chief.”
“Move, Sindak,” Koracoo ordered.
Sindak shook his head, but he and Towa trotted down the trail with their war clubs in tight fists. The children fell into line behind them, followed by Koracoo and Gonda.
Odion led the children at a fast clip, his moccasins leaving dark splotches in the frost. The two girls, Tutelo and Baji, ran practically on his heels. Hehaka, however, lagged behind. He was a strange boy, not quite right, though Gonda hadn’t had enough time to discover exactly what was wrong with him. Perhaps he’d simply been a slave for so long he didn’t know how to deal with his sudden freedom.
Gonda looked back over his shoulder and saw Cord and his men staggering after them. If they made it more than a few hundred paces before their shaking knees gave out, he’d be amazed.
Seven
Odion
I scramble up the steep trail behind Sindak and Towa. I’m exhausted, but I’ll never give up. When we reach the crest of a low hill, I look back over my shoulder. Baji is right behind me. Tutelo and Hehaka walk ten paces away. Mother and Father are close on their heels. But the Flint warriors are strung out far apart, staggering more than running. I scan the moonlit forest, where pine needles shimmer and the bare branches of oaks seem made of polished silver. I don’t see the people chasing us, but their yips echo at regular intervals. Every time I hear them, my throat constricts as though the huge hands of the gods have closed around it. “Sindak,” I say, “give me a weapon. You have three stilettos tucked into your belt.” I extend my hand.
The warrior stares at me; then his eyes narrow in respect. He pulls a deerbone stiletto from his belt and hands it to me. “Don’t let anyone know you have this until you need it.”
“I understand.” I tuck it into my belt beneath my cape.
Sindak turns around and frowns at our party. “Towa, let’s stop for a few moments and let the Flint warriors catch up.” His hooked nose shines with sweat. Despite the cold, the run has made us all hot.
Towa halts and walks back to stand beside Sindak. His brows draw together. He’s tall and broad shouldered. His long black hair hangs over the front of his cape. “I thought you didn’t want them to catch up.”