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Authors: W. Michael Gear,Kathleen O'Neal Gear

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BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)

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“For example,” Keresa said in a silken voice. “We had Walking Seal Village surrounded. When Windwolf’s warriors ambushed us, it was a terrible battle. But in the midst of all the killing, he ran straight for the ceremonial lodge—abandoning his warriors. Why?”

Goodeagle’s breathing came in shallow gasps now; sweat stung his eyes. If he could get to his knees, he might be able to take her. He considered it. No, no, even if he managed to take Keresa, Kakala would probably kill him out of some bizarre sense of loyalty to his deputy. “To rescue Bramble.”

“I don’t believe that. He’s too good a war chief to endanger his warriors simply out of—”

“You’re a fool, Keresa.” Goodeagle shook his head, chuckling hysterically. Maybe he could talk his way out. “I’d have thought you’d know this by now! Windwolf has some fundamental flaws. He’s a cool calculating war chief only up to a point. He can recover from any surprise, but if he takes a blow to the heart, he stumbles. He
loved
her!”

“Let’s discuss Bramble. Try to imagine, Goodeagle; try to see what her last discussion with Windwolf must have been like. He let her go into a situation where he knew she might die.”

He shook his head. “I—I never really liked her. I don’t—”

Her arm pressed coolly into his windpipe. He swallowed convulsively, belly threatening to empty itself. “He … He probably said something about how dangerous it was. And … And she told him he was too valuable to risk … that she was the right choice.”

Keresa asked, “Would she have discussed you? Women tend to be more perceptive about people than men. She had suspicions you weren’t the loyal friend Windwolf thought, didn’t she?”

“Bramble and I never got along. She was always so fanatically dedicated to Windwolf that it sickened me. I couldn’t even have a decent argument with him without her tongue—”

“But he
let
her take the risk?”

“You didn’t know Bramble like I did.”

“And how was that?”

“She was strong-willed like a man. How he could love a woman like that …”

Keresa released him and stood. She glared down, disgust and hatred marring her normally striking face. Her full lips pursed as though she wanted to spit on him. “I’ve heard enough.”

Kakala nodded. “Go. I need to question him for a time longer.”

She briskly strode away.

Goodeagle collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath and rubbing his throat. “Kakala, if you push Windwolf, he’ll head straight for the Nightland Elders. None of them will be alive when he leaves.”

“And how will he accomplish that feat of magic? Did the two of you ever plan such an attack?”

“Yes. Many times, and in great detail.” Goodeagle rolled to his stomach and wiped sweat from his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “But before I tell you, I need water. Bring me some water!”

A few heartbeats later, a water bag sailed through the tunnel and thudded on the floor.

Forty-seven

N
ashat rolled his hips, enjoying the pressure of Blue Wing’s pubis against his. The woman had her long legs wrapped around his buttocks as he had instructed the first night he’d taken her. Some deep-seated comfort filled his chest, augmented by the sensations of his shaft moving inside her. He liked full-breasted women, and pressed his chest into hers.

When the tingle began in his loins, he stiffened, eyes closed. As waves of pleasure spasmed, he gasped, “Gods, yes, Keresa, yes!”

He lay spent, then lifted himself on an arm, looking down at the woman.

“I am Keresa again?” she asked emotionlessly.

“It’s an expression among my people.” He rolled off her, then watched as she stood, wiped herself, and listlessly pulled a dress over her head. He watched her breath fogging in the cold, wondering if it reflected the disgust in her soul, and added, “I would take it as most inappropriate if I heard that you made mention of such things among the slave women.” He smiled. “And I will know.”

She nodded, the defeated expression on her lovely face sharpening.

“Oh, come, Blue Wing. At least you’re fed … and alive.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Would you rather have remained in the pen with the others? I hear the wolves have even taken the bones.”

She gave him a dull look, as if she didn’t really know.

And to think the Guide just told her to go home?

He dressed as she ducked out through the hanging. He shivered, stepping over to the woodpile and tossing three pieces onto the coals. Would he never be warm again? Glancing at the pile, he noticed how low it was. What were the slaves doing on their half-moon-long trips down to the forests and back to keep him supplied?

He heard someone clear his throat beyond the hanging. “Yes?”

“The warriors you requested are here, Councilor.”

Nashat straightened his long war shirt, hung a string of shell beads with an intricately carved ivory pendant about his neck, and slicked his hair back. “Enter.”

He watched as a nervous Kishkat and Tapa stepped in, wary eyes taking in his opulent surroundings. Neither one seemed to have any idea what to do with his hands.

“Ah, Kishkat, Tapa, how nice of you to accept my summons.”

“Thank you, Councilor,” Kishkat said, trying to mask the deep-seated fear behind his too-quick movements.

Nashat stood, fingering his chin, letting them stew as he gave them a half-lidded glare.

The pressure got to them. Kishkat stammered, “C-Can we help you, Councilor?”

“Imagine my surprise when I learned just recently that you were at home with your wives and families instead of on the war trail with Kakala.”

Tapa looked like a trapped hare. “Is … is that a problem, Councilor?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he asked pleasantly.

Kishkat spread his arms. “We brought the woman, Skimmer! Under … under War Chief Kakala’s orders.” He swallowed too hard.

“Skimmer is dead.”

“Oh, no, Councilor,” Tapa protested. “We … we found her just outside Headswift Village. On … on the trail.” He looked pleadingly at Kishkat. “Isn’t that right?”

Kishkat took a breath. “Yes, Councilor. Kakala, in accordance with the Guide’s orders, sent us here with the woman.”

“With a dead woman.”

“But she’s not
dead
!” Kishkat insisted. “We delivered her to the Guide! Go ask him.”

Nashat narrowed an eye. “Just where did you do this?”

“Beyond the caves!” Kishkat swallowed hard. “He was waiting for us in the dark. Skimmer told us he wished to see her. And we brought her. He took the woman and told us that we should go home, and that we’d be rewarded.”

“We just did what the Guide said, Councilor.” Tapa’s voice sounded like something squeezed out from under a rock.

Skimmer is alive?
He frowned, taking a couple of paces before the fire. Shooting a glance at the warriors, he could tell that that much was true.

“Why didn’t you come to tell me this?”

Kishkat spread helpless arms. “We … we serve the Guide.”

“We
all
serve the Guide,” Nashat snapped. “At least in our own way.” He took a deep breath, the tension he’d shed lying with Blue Wing rebuilt in his chest. “Where is the woman now?”

The two warriors glanced at each other and shrugged. Kishkat said, “Wherever the Guide took her, Councilor.”

Skimmer has been with Ti-Bish for several days? And I’ve heard no word of it? By Raven Hunter’s breath, is the Idiot still alive?

“And what of Kakala? I have heard no word.”

Kishkat took a deep breath. “I can honestly say that I have no idea what has happened to the war chief.”

Nashat gave him a nasty smile. “Then tell me dishonestly.”

Kishkat blinked. “What?”

“What was he doing when you saw him last?”

Tapa had sweat beading on his brow. “P-Preparing to attack Headswift Village.”

“Did you know that Skimmer was plotting to murder the Guide?”

Both warriors looked stunned.

Kishkat shook his head. “They talked like friends. Nor did Skimmer say anything unkind about the Guide during the days we were on the trail with her.”

Nashat could feel a headache coming on. “Go. Get out of here. And if the Guide is harmed in any way, you will bear the blame.”

They bolted headlong from the chamber.

He reached for his cloak, calling, “Guard! Prepare me a lamp.”

Of all things, he hated climbing down into the dark ice tunnels like some sort of misbegotten rat.

Ti-Bish, you idiot, if you are dead through this foolishness, it is going to really complicate my life.

W
ar Chief Fish Hawk called, “Windwolf? Are you awake?”

Windwolf blinked, yawned, and tried to shed fragments of his Dream. In it, Bramble and Keresa kept merging together: sometimes one, sometimes the other. An odd mixing of grief and hope left him muddled as he stared around his stone-lined chamber.

He wearily threw off his hides and rose to his feet. As he reached for his buffalo coat and slipped it on, he called, “I’m awake, Fish Hawk. What is it?”

“Deputy Keresa wishes to speak with you.”

He frowned. Why would she request a meeting at this time of night? He blinked at the firelight that flickered over the stone walls. How long had he been asleep? If the fire was still burning, not long. “Is she with you?’

“Yes. She told me it was urgent.”

“Let her enter, Fish Hawk.”

The curtain was drawn back, and she ducked under it. Her red doehide war shirt looked faintly orange in the dim glow of the fire. She wore her long hair loose about her shoulders. The style made her seem more frail—an illusion he dared not fall prey to.

He gestured to one of the hides on the other side of the fire. “Sit. May I get you a cup of tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What may I do for you?”

“You may set me and my warriors free.”

“Try as I might, I can’t quite talk myself into believing that’s a good idea.” He paused. “Assuming, that is, that they wish to continue attacks on my people.”

She walked over and stood beside him as he dipped the cup. He gave her a sidelong look. In the fire’s gleam, her tightly clenched fists shone starkly white. He examined her more closely. She was fighting to keep her breathing even, but it wasn’t working. His brows lowered.
Either the stakes were uncommonly high—or she wasn’t particularly practiced at this. Maybe both. Was she covering for someone? Kakala? A moment of panic set his heart to racing.

He stood and handed her the cup, noting with interest how long she allowed their fingers to touch before taking it. The touch sent a small tingle through him; just as she’d intended. Interesting.

“Did you decide not to sit down?” he asked.

“I think I’ll stand.”

He eyed her speculatively as he sipped his tea. “What can I help you with?”

“The tension among my people is growing. Fights are breaking out over nothing. Just moments ago one warrior was very tempted to choke another to death.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And
I
should think that’s a bad idea?”

“Nevertheless—”

“I suppose I could climb down and give them a lecture on the intricacy of good manners while awaiting the inevitable.”

“I think …” She paused. “That might make things worse.”

He nodded amiably. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

She gave him an uncertain glance. Were his suspicions that plain? Or was she just uncomfortable with the role of trickster? Lifting her cup, she finished it to the last drop, and handed it to him for a refill.

He dipped another for her. “Is this discussion difficult for you?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you expect it to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really? I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She gave him an irritated look that he thought completely charming.

“You’re a warrior. You should have had your strategy worked out before you came in.”

She fixed him with a penetrating but uneasy stare. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head and tossed more branches onto the fire, stalling; giving her time to stew.

Silence stretched; she started to fidget.

He relented. “Tell me something? How distracted am I supposed to be? Enough to forget myself completely?” He brazenly looked her up and down. “I hope you’re not counting on my sense of honor.”

“I’ve already heard about your honor when it comes to women.” Her cheeks turned a rosy hue. She exhaled haltingly and ran a nervous hand through her hair.

My honor when it comes to women?
He smiled.
Goodeagle, working his poison!

“I think you are one of the most attractive and capable women I have ever known, Keresa, but don’t count on me losing my senses just because I find you fascinating.”

“Counting on you in any manner seems risky.”

He scrutinized her unmercifully. She stood quietly, staring into her tea cup, as though vaguely embarrassed.

“Do you wish to tell me what we’re really discussing?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then why don’t you let me start?” He took three steps to stand directly in front of her. “Let’s discuss how Kakala is plotting to escape.”

“We’ve tried. It’s impossible. We can’t—”

“No good war chief ever gives up. And my old adversary is a very good war chief.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He took the opportunity to refill his cup. As he straightened again, he ordered, “Sit down, Deputy. It’s not working.”

She stood defiantly for a moment, then knelt across the fire, eyes sharp as if to see into his soul. “If it’s not working, why don’t you throw me out?”

He grinned. “I like you.”

“Is that supposed to ease my tension?”

“Not particularly.” Toying with his tea, he asked, “So Kakala’s finally decided he needs Goodeagle’s knowledge?”

“Goodeagle’s dead. You said it yourself.”

“Goodeagle knows the rules too well to be dead. Surely he’ll fill you in on all of my plans. It’s in his interest to get out and as far away from me as he can get.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t understand you, Windwolf. Why are you just sitting here? Goodeagle—assuming he’s alive—can
hurt
you.”

A small thread of warm emotion tinged that last. He noted her flushed cheeks, the anxious movements of her hands around her cup. She was good.

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)

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