Gonda yelled, “Where are Koracoo and the children? What happened?”
Cord shipped his paddle and shouted back, “We found a Dawnland boy. They stayed with him while we came after you.”
“A boy?” Wakdanek called. “Who is he?”
Sindak’s canoe grounded with a loud grating sound. As Cord jumped into the water and waded ashore, he answered, “The child was hiding thirty paces from our camp.”
The two feathers on Wakdanek’s moosehide hat wafted in the wind as he closed on Cord. “What’s his name?”
“He said he was your cousin. His name is Toksus.”
Wakdanek straightened. “Blessed gods! Is he all right?” He ran forward.
“He appears to be, but Koracoo wants you there immediately. Sindak will guide the rest of you back. Gonda and I will remain here to guard the canoes.”
Gonda vented a low ugly laugh. “I’m not staying here. You can guard the canoes by yourself. I want to talk to the boy. How did he get this far south? What—?”
Cord turned to Sindak. “Hurry. We know we’re on the right path now. The sooner we’re on the water again, the sooner we’ll catch Gannajero.”
Sindak dipped his head in a nod and called, “Everyone, follow me.”
Towa, Wakdanek, and the children gathered around Sindak.
When Gonda started to join Sindak’s group, Cord caught him by the arm and forcibly pulled him back. “These aren’t my orders. They’re hers.”
Gonda’s muscles bulged as he shook off Cord’s restraining hand. Murderous rage was filling him up, threatening to burst loose in a frenzy of fists or clashing war clubs. It took every bit of strength he had to calm himself enough to say through gritted teeth, “She did this on purpose, you know.”
Cord just stared at him. “What?”
“Left us here together.”
“Why would that be?”
“Don’t be a dimwit. You’ve seen how she splits up her warriors.”
Cord appeared to think about that for a moment; then the knife scar that cut across his jaw tilted up in admiration. “Yes. I’ve marveled at it. Or rather, marveled at the fact that it seems to work. I would never separate friends and create teams of enemies. I’d be afraid they’d kill each other before they arrived at some sort of reconciliation.”
“This time her strategy isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going to get over being demoted and having an enemy warrior installed in my place—even if I do come to respect him.”
Cord’s mouth set into a grim line. “I’m not sure I would either.”
As his anger began to drain away, Gonda had to clench his jaw to steady his nerves. He said, “Tell me what happened with the child. How did you find him?”
Cord’s wary attention remained on the river, the trees. “Just before we shoved off we heard him crying. He was hiding, entangled with a corpse, beneath a thicket of dogwoods.”
“A corpse?”
“Yes, there were actually two Dawnland children—one was dead.”
“What killed him?”
As though to ease his tension, Cord ran a hand over the black roach of hair that lined the top of his head. Several yellow larch needles fell out. “The living boy, Toksus, said that the dead boy had been witched, and then stabbed, by Gannajero.”
“Gannajero? Toksus was with Gannajero?” Panic tingled Gonda’s veins. He grabbed Cord’s arm. “H-How long ago?”
“Yesterday.”
“So she’s just ahead of us on the river?” He swung around to look downstream, as though expecting to see her canoes. Only swaying maples met his gaze. A few old leaves blew from the branches and fluttered into the rushing water.
“Apparently.”
“The other children with her, what did Toksus—?”
“He said he’d talked to Wrass. That’s all. But we shouldn’t make too much of that. Koracoo ordered me to find you, and I left immediately.”
Gonda felt light-headed. He took a few steps away from Cord and struggled to control his hope. What would Koracoo be thinking? She’d be vacillating, wondering what to do with the Dawnland child. They couldn’t just leave him wandering alone in the forest. It was inhuman. The boy had been through unimaginable terrors. He needed to go home to his family … whatever was left of it. But they didn’t have the luxury of turning around and taking the boy home. They had to …
“It will be a problem.” Cord still had his attention focused on the trees.
“What will?” Gonda turned around.
“Another child.”
It didn’t surprise him that the Flint war chief was worried about the same thing he was. The danger increased tenfold with every additional child: more noise, more distractions, more chances that they’d all be killed.