The Dawn Country(73)
Gonda gave the man an annoyed look. “So … what am I supposed to call you now? War Chief Cord or Deputy Cord?”
Cord calmly responded, “Our duty is to rescue the children, Gonda. She asked me. Not the reverse. And since she did, I plan to carry out my responsibilities to the best of my ability. You can call me whatever you like.”
Gonda had the irrational desire to shout at him, which was sheer foolishness. Instead, he shook his fists at nothing and said, “I know this isn’t your fault. I just … I thought Koracoo and I had resolved our differences. Obviously, I was wrong.”
After a long pause, Cord asked, “What happened between you, Gonda?”
Taken aback by the boldness of the question, Gonda snapped, “What makes you think I’d tell you?”
Cord lifted a shoulder. “I’ll find out anyway, but it will come from Sindak or Towa. Maybe small details from the children. Is that who you want to tell me?”
Gonda felt slightly ill. It was actually chilling to imagine Sindak relating the story of the fall of Yellowtail Village. He rubbed his forehead. “I disobeyed one of Koracoo’s orders.”
Cord shifted slightly. “Why?”
“Why? Because she was wrong. She wasn’t there. I was. I had to make a decision.”
“And what happened as a result?”
Gonda laughed softly, more in despair than amusement. “Do you know Yenda?”
Cord’s mouth puckered. “The Mountain war chief? I’ve fought him many times. He’s a worthless, arrogant fool. Why?”
Gonda searched the surrounding forest before he replied, “On the morning of the attack, a Trader came through bearing news that he’d heard Yenda was skulking around Yellowtail Village with a huge war party. The rumor could have been false. Koracoo, however, leaves nothing to chance. She took half our warriors out to investigate. She left me in charge of the village defense.”
“Was your ‘decision’ the reason the village was destroyed?”
Images of the battle flooded through Gonda. He saw again the dead piling up in the plaza, heard the screams and cries of the wounded … felt the palisade catwalk shake as the onslaught of warriors hit it. He squeezed his eyes closed.
Finally, Cord asked, “How many warriors did Yenda have?”
“I’m not sure. My scouts reported somewhere around one thousand. But they were terrified; they could have exaggerated.”
“How many did you have?”
“Three hundred.”
When Gonda opened his eyes, he found Cord staring at him in sympathy. “So … in the last desperate moments something changed that made you disobey Koracoo’s order. What was her order?”
Gonda crossed his arms over his aching heart and gazed out at the river, where an uprooted tree bobbed along in the current. As it rolled over, whole branches spun up and glittered in the sunlight. “Before she left, Koracoo ordered me to keep everyone inside the palisade. She feared that if I split my forces by sending even a handful of warriors outside, I’d never be able to hold the palisade.”
“Was she right?”
“At the time, it seemed the only hope of saving a few of our people.”
“So, you split your forces?”
“Yes, but I didn’t make the decision hastily. I waited until the last possible moment. The palisade had been burned through in fifty places. Mountain warriors were crawling in and out like rats in a corn bin. Every longhouse was on fire.”
Cord’s gaze took on a faraway look, as though he was seeing it all play out on the fabric of his souls. “How many men did you send outside?”
“I led one hundred warriors out with our women and children, hoping we’d be able to protect them long enough that some could escape.”
Cord didn’t say anything.
Through a long exhalation, Gonda finished, “Everything fell apart. The village was overrun. Most of the warriors I’d led outside were killed, and many of the women and children were rounded up and marched away as slaves. Including my own children.” The incapacitating ache he’d been suppressing swelled around his heart.
“Did some escape?”
“Yes. But not many.”
Cord rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and nodded. “And when Koracoo returned, what did she do?”
“She found me in the forest, held me tightly while I wept … then she walked back into the village and started questioning people. She listened to the stories told by our remaining elders, talked to the people I’d left to guard the palisade, and questioned the few surviving warriors who’d gone outside with me. They all agreed I was to blame. They said I should have never split my forces. After that, Koracoo marched straight to the smoldering husk of our longhouse, gathered what remained of my belongings, and set them outside the door. We’d been joined for twelve summers, and she divorced me without ever asking me a single question.”