Gonda glanced at his war club, bow, and quiver where they lay in the snow near the small fire, as though wishing he could grab one. Gonda, as well as he and Towa, still had deerbone stilettos tucked into their leggings, but none of them dared to reach for stilettos until they had no other choice.
“Let me go!” Hehaka shrieked.
“What about your father, the chief?” Gonda yelled in the boy’s ear.
Hehaka’s shrieking dropped to a wail. “He doesn’t even remember me. He won’t know who I am.”
“No man ever forgets his son. He’s probably spent most of his life trying to find you.”
“No one came for me. No one! I used to lie awake praying someone would come. But no—”
“Hush!” Gonda ordered, and turned to watch Koracoo lithely stride into the firelight.
Her short hair clung wetly to her face, highlighting her high cheekbones, full lips, and slitted eyes. Out in the forest, whispers started as men began discussing her. They probably all knew her reputation … and that of CorpseEye. Sindak looked at the club resting in the snow. He was surprised no one had come to get it yet. Did that mean Gannajero needed every man exactly where he was?
Koracoo stopped two paces from Gonda, facing Kotin, and the man’s gaze traced the line of her breasts, narrow waist, and lingered on her hips. He chuckled softly, as though she were already his.
Koracoo, who had undoubtedly endured such arrogance many times, called, “You’re an outcast, little better than a slave. Where is your master?”
Kotin threw out his chest. “I speak for the mighty Gannajero.”
“If Gannajero is here, why am I talking to you? Is she too cowardly to face me?”
Kotin chuckled again, and his yellow teeth reflected the firelight like those of an old dog. “In a few moments, you’ll all be dead. Why should she waste her time—?”
“Because,” Towa called, “I bring a message for her from the great chief Atotarho.”
Sindak spun to stare at his friend. As Towa marched past, Sindak said, “What are you doing?”
“Carrying out my chief’s orders.”
“What? Now?”
Towa gave him an irritated look, held up his hands, and continued into the firelight. The amber gleam turned Towa’s buckskin cape golden and shaded every determined line in his handsome face.
“Kotin?” a warrior called from behind Towa.
“Let him come!” Kotin said with an exasperated look.
Towa walked to stand on the other side of Gonda so that the three of them—he, Towa, and Koracoo—formed a defensive line in front of the canoes.
“What’s the message?” Kotin demanded to know.
When Towa shook his head, his long black hair swayed across the back of his cape. “My orders are to tell only Gannajero. Where is she?”
Kotin turned to his right, as though looking at someone who stood deep in the forest shadows.
Sindak followed his gaze, but saw nothing. Then the brush rustled, parted, and an ugly old woman tramped out of the trees. Greasy twists of hair fell around her wrinkled face. Her lips were sucked in over toothless gums, but her eyes were like boiling cauldrons of sheer hatred.
“Gannajero! Gannajero!” Hehaka screamed, and threw himself into a fit in Gonda’s arms.
Holding onto him must have been like clutching a wiry weasel with sharp claws. The boy scratched Gonda’s face and throat until Gonda squeezed the air out of the boy’s lungs and left him bug-eyed and gasping. “Don’t fight me!”
Hehaka weakly pounded Gonda’s shoulders. “I—I’ll stop.”
Gonda relaxed his hold enough to let the boy get a full breath of air into his lungs, whereupon Hehaka started sobbing.
The old woman didn’t even glance at Hehaka as she walked over to Kotin. The shells and twists of copper on her cape shook with every move, creating small flashes in the near darkness.
“So,” Gannajero said in a rough gravelly voice, “my brother sent a second messenger to follow the first. Smart. Do you carry the proof?”
Sindak wondered what she was talking about. Atotarho had already sent a messenger to her? Who? What message?
Towa cautiously walked toward her. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
He grasped the leather thong around his neck and pulled the magnificent gorget over his head. When he held it out to her, the enormous carved shell swung back and forth. Kotin’s jaw slackened in awe, probably calculating the extraordinary value, but Gannajero stood absolutely silent and still. Her gaze clung to the gorget, transfixed.
“Bring it here,” she ordered, and extended a clawlike hand.
Towa shook his head. “Not until our negotiations are concluded. Atotarho wishes to make a Trade. He will—”