Twenty-six

Enraged, Blood Talon charged along the shore as one by one his muddy, frustrated warriors slowed and vented their anger at the disappearing canoe. When the excitement began, he’d been down at the river, filling a brownware pot with water to add to the corn gruel that bubbled on the fire.

A couple of the men, Three Bow and Whistle Hand, had taken their bows and slipped into the driftwood-and-willow tangle that had protected their camp from the chilly south wind. Their hopes had been to bag something for the pot, be it waterfowl, a raccoon, or best of all, a deer or turkey.

As the rest of his warriors rolled up their bedding, attended to their morning needs, and washed at the water’s edge, Blood Talon had poured his water into the stew, only to hear “Stop!” and “It’s them! Night Shadow Star! Hurry. This way, all of you!”

Chaos broke out. Nutcracker had charged headlong into the tangle of willows, old wood, and vines.

Additional shouts could be heard along with the ululating call of the hunt.

Blood Talon had grabbed for his weapons, among the last to claw his way into the screen of vegetation, battle his way through the mess of old driftwood, and stumble out of the willows onto the narrow beach.

In the heartbeat it took him to orient himself, it was to see a slender Trade canoe lancing its way parallel to the far bank, maybe a couple of bow shots away. Seven people, all bending their backs to the paddles, were driving the craft upstream at a quick clip.

His warriors were charging up the beach, some shooting, others howling with the thrill of the chase.

“You miserable fools!” Blood Talon roared. “You’ll never catch them this way.”

“They’ll have to cross at the next bend,” Wild Owl called back. “We’ll trap them against the current.”

Then the warrior was off and running, slogging through the muddy water, ducking around broken branches and deadfall that stuck out from the bank.

Blood Talon shook his head at the notion; surely the fugitives—if that really was Night Shadow Star and the Red Wing—wouldn’t just paddle into the arms of their pursuers.

But it might slow them down.

Was there a way?

He and his men were charging along the outside of the curve, splashing through shallows, clambering up the places where the fast current had undercut the bank. Tough going, but his warriors were in good shape. If they could make it that far, the river’s next loop would let them cut across the inside, maybe get far enough ahead … No, the quarry couldn’t be that stupid.

Even if they could get ahead, maybe enough to allow several of their warriors to swim across, cut off escape on the other bank …

But then, what was to keep the quarry from simply doubling back, fleeing downriver and leaving him and his men upstream? Not to mention far from their now-vulnerable canoe. Which was unguarded and sitting right there on the beach where Night Shadow Star and her people could push it out onto the water, put a couple of paddlers in it, and race it downriver on the current.

“Halt!” Blood Talon bellowed. “Now! All of you! Get back to the canoe. That’s an order!”

His party of warriors was strung out too far. Those closest to him slowed, looked back, and stopped. Fingering their bows, they shot uncertain glances at the distant canoe. It had beached on the opposite side, the occupants unloading.

To do what?

As soon as the rope was played out and the people on shore began towing the canoe against the current, Blood Talon cursed, kicked the water, and threw his hands up.

“Get back here. Pass it along. That’s a direct order!”

He could just see the last of his warriors disappear around the bend, gesturing, giving voice to their rage, shooting the occasional and totally fruitless arrow as the Traders’ towed canoe vanished around the far curve of the river.

“Back to camp! Now! And anyone who isn’t present after a finger’s time better not come back!”

Was that even Night Shadow Star and the Red Wing? Across the distance he thought he recognized the woman and her slave warrior. But he couldn’t be sure. They’d been wearing slip-over shirts, some kind of cloaks. Not the sort of dress a Cahokian lady from the Morning Star House of the Four Winds Clan would wear.

The woman who might have been Night Shadow Star had bent to the paddle as furiously as the rest of them. A woman of her status would never have allowed herself to participate in such a menial task. Even more, the woman he’d seen knew what she was doing. Plied that paddle like a seasoned river traveler.

He angrily kicked a stick of driftwood out of his way, sloshed back through the shallows, and worked himself into a rage as he finally made it back to the willow screen and forced his way through the tangle to his beach camp.

Just the sight of the canoe brought a swell of relief, and the corn gruel had cooked down in the meantime. It needed another pot of water. As he bent to get it, watched the water flowing into the brownware pot, he realized that he was right back where he started.

Only now—if that really had been them—they knew they were being hunted.

“Of all the stupid stunts to pull,” he growled.

“Thought we had them.” Nutcracker bit off the words the way he did when he was mad and frustrated. “They should have had to cross at the next bend of the river.”

In ones, twos, and threes, the rest of his warriors emerged from the tangle, all looking sheepish, mud-spattered, their skin scratched; and more to the point, the number of arrows in their quivers was considerably depleted.

They were all there now, trying to look busy with other things, avoiding his eyes as he filled the breakfast pot and set the brownware pot to the side.

“Someone tell me. Are you the same smart, canny, veteran warriors I knew up north? The ones who took Red Wing Town without a single loss? The ones who pacified the barbarian chiefs? Remember those warriors? Smart. Disciplined. Did any good sense you used to have up north vanish when you got back to Cahokia? Or just when you turned the bow of your canoe up the Tenasee? Is there something in the water that turned you all stupider than a rock?”

“We thought we had them.” Old Scar pulled at his earlobe, eyes on the distant horizon.

“Are you even sure that was Night Shadow Star? Huh? Did any of you really get a good look across the water? Did you recognize the Red Wing? I’ve stared the man in the face. Fought him. I wasn’t sure that any of those people were who you all think they are.”

“They ran,” Three Bow said in defense. “We called for them to stop, and they threw themselves into the paddles. If it wasn’t them, why would they run?”

“You don’t think that a party of men with strung bows who are pulling arrows out of their quivers might have that effect on a party of Traders? Who knows what the story is here? Maybe a couple of villages are at war.”

“The canoe was like the one that’s been described.” Nutcracker squatted before the gruel pot, used a ceramic cup to scoop up some of the contents. “Same number of people. Just like all the informants have said.”

Blood Talon laced all the sarcasm he could into his voice. “Ah! Good! So, there’s only one canoe on this entire length of river that has seven people in it and is headed upriver. That just made my life so much easier. From here on, when we encounter a canoe, we just need to count. When we have seven, that’s them. Grab them, take them back to Spotted Wrist, and be heroes.”

Nutcracker chugged down the hot gruel, ordering the rest, “Come on. Fill your bellies. Then get the canoe packed. If that was them, they know we’re behind them. It’s just going to make the hunt that much harder, longer, and more difficult.”

“Do as the second commands.” Blood Talon stood. “From here on out, I don’t want to hear a word of complaint. No matter how long it takes, just think back to this morning and how you had a chance to nab them without a fight.”

Assuming it really was them.

But even as he considered the question, Blood Talon just had that feeling. Like a tickle along the spine. True, he hadn’t been close enough to get a good look at that warrior—and just how did he know he was a warrior?— or the woman. No, they weren’t dressed as Cahokians, let alone nobles. And yes, the woman was paddling as hard as the rest, but both of the women in that canoe had had their hair in braids. A Cahokian noble would wear her hair up. The women he’d seen wore common garments.

But this was Night Shadow Star.

Blood Talon had helped to capture the Red Wing with the understanding that Night Shadow Star could torture him to death, and instead she’d taken him into her bed. She’d been born to a Sky clan, and now served Piasa. Rising Flame had ordered her to marry Spotted Wrist, and she’d ignored it. She was supposed to be in charge of the Cofitachequi expedition, and she’d run off with Traders.

Given all that, why was he surprised she was acting like a common-born Trader? Since when had she ever done anything the way she was supposed to?

“Let’s move, people. Something tells me this just got a whole lot more difficult.”