Forty-Four

Thistle dug her fingers into the dirt of Straight Path Wash and pulled herself up beside Jay Bird to peer over the bank at Talon Town. Swirls of dark gray cloud painted the evening sky, and owls hoo-hooed as they sailed over the cliffs. She’d braided her long hair and coiled it into a bun at the back of her head. Despite the chill, her tattered yellow dress clung damply to her slender body. Scents of wet earth and grass filled her nose.

Four guards. They stood on the walls, their faces gleaming orange in the soft light coming from the chambers.

Hatred swelled. These people, perhaps these very men, had murdered Beargrass and Fledgling! They’d burned her village and slaughtered her clan. They’d taken everything from Thistle!… Everything except Cornsilk.

She fought back the tears of rage that blurred her eyes.

Cornsilk? Where are you?

Leafhopper crouched in the bottom of the drainage, along with about sixty warriors, waiting instructions to move. In the growing darkness, her squat frame and short hair made her look like a boy. All afternoon long, as they’d stealthily traveled the canyon, Leafhopper had talked about seeing Cornsilk again. It had warmed Thistle’s heart, because Thistle had been having terrible nightmares that Cornsilk had never reached Talon Town, that her daughter lay in some patch of sagebrush, dead.

Jay Bird’s thin face had taken on a predatory alertness. He wore the red shirt that Howler had stripped from the dead signal tower guard. Thistle had rinsed it in the drainage, but it still smelled of blood.

She took a deep breath. The very air seemed to pulse with fear. And they had good reason to be afraid. Straight Path Canyon’s huge towns had been organized and built for defense. If one person screamed an alarm, within half a hand of time every town and village down the length of the canyon responded with an outpouring of warriors. That was their strength. They could push an enemy war party back against the canyon walls and literally shoot them to shreds.

Thistle ground her teeth as she scanned Talon Town. She had helped to build those impenetrable walls. Ten hands thick in places, they could not be battered down or scaled—though she had watched very brave warriors throw up ladders in an attempt to do so. The Straight Path archers atop the walls had laughed as they picked them off.

Jay Bird looked at Thistle and tapped the dirt with his forefinger. “Draw it for me. We will have perhaps one finger of time to do this. I must know exactly where the First People’s chambers are.”

Thistle sketched the half-moon shape in the soil, drew the line of rooms that divided the plaza, and said, “Remember that I have not been here in almost sixteen summers, Great Chief. I expect their chambers will be in the same places, but they may have moved.”

“I understand. Go ahead.”

“Here, on the fifth floor at the very back, was Crow Beard’s chamber. Over here on the right, the east side, Night Sun’s chamber sat just beneath Propped Pillar”—she tapped the sketch—“and Sternlight’s chamber was a short distance away … here. Close to the front, on the first floor, Ironwood used to live here. Featherstone’s chamber—”

“She is the elderly demented woman?”

“Yes.”

“Never mind. She would slow us down too much. And if the First People are not in their chambers, where else might they be?”

Thistle made a dimple in the line of rooms separating the halves of the plaza. “Here, Jay Bird. This is the First People’s kiva.”

Jay Bird looked back and forth from her map to Talon Town, as if memorizing the critical locations. A strange gleam had entered his eyes.

He turned to Howler, and the tall ugly warrior wet his lips nervously. Jay Bird said, “I think it’s dark enough. Pick three men to follow us. They’ll have to get as close as they can to their targets and kill as silently as possible. They will have only one chance.”

“I understand,” Howler replied.

“Do you?” Jay Bird made a gesture to the left, indicating the people walking around Streambed Town, talking and laughing. Then he gestured to the right, toward the bright glow of Kettle Town. “One wrong move, Howler, and the warriors from these towns will join forces and leap upon us like wolves on field mice.”

Howler nodded. “I’ve already told our people they cannot make a sound, or even ‘accidentally’ set a fire, that anything which alerts the other towns will bring a thousand warriors down upon us and guarantee we do not make it out of the canyon alive.”

“Good. Make sure they also understand that by first light tomorrow the Straight Path dogs will have mounted a war party. We will need to run as far and as fast as we can tonight.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“Go, then. Get them into position while I speak with Thistle.”

“Yes, my chief.”

Climbing back down into the wash, Howler silently ran through the lines, tapping certain men on the shoulders. Three rose and dispersed, walking separately toward Talon Town. Their gray shirts blended with the twilight.

With the silence of spring mist, Jay Bird crawled over the lip of the drainage and lay flat in the grass, eyes squinting.

Thistle followed his gaze, knowing he must be searching for the warriors he’d sent ahead. She could see nothing in the dusk, but he seemed to be monitoring someone’s movements. His eyes tracked to the left.

She ground her teeth. She had no weapon, because they did not yet trust her. She had only her hands to defend herself. But they would trust her. Soon.

After another finger of time, Jay Bird whispered. “It is time, Thistle.”

She scrambled over the bank and stood up, her heart jamming against her ribs. “I’m only sorry Snake Head isn’t here so I could kill him myself.”

“That will come, good woman. Especially if this night’s raid succeeds.” He slowly rose to his feet, checked the bow slung over his right shoulder and the quiver over his left. It held ten beautifully fletched arrows. He untied the war club from his belt and tested its familiar weight.

“You’re sure the warrior on guard over the entrance is called Gnat?”

“Yes. That’s him.”

“All right, let’s go.”

*   *   *

Ironwood ducked out of the altar room and looked around the plaza. Night had fallen, and bats flitted in the faint orange glow that came from the town. No one walked the plaza. The Made People had retreated to their chambers to cook supper, and the slaves had been confined. Soft voices drifted on the wind.

Gnat stood guard over the entry, his stocky body silhouetted against the slate-gray sky. Three other warriors crouched on the fifth-story roof. Ironwood nodded approvingly. With only a handful of real warriors left in town, wariness was imperative. Gnat had done well.

Ironwood started across the hard-packed dirt, and Wind Baby ruffled his graying hair and whipped his buckskin sleeves. The scent of Cornsilk’s blood rose from his stained shirt. He needed to change clothes. A hand of time ago, Weedblossom had sent word that she wished to speak with Night Sun tomorrow morning. Both of them knew what the summons meant. As an act of charity, Weedblossom had given Night Sun time … to prepare a defense, to get rid of the evidence—meaning their daughter—or to leave.

Night Sun had already brought her pack to the kiva in preparation. As soon as they could, the three of them would go, even if Ironwood had to carry his daughter every step of the way. If she woke before dawn, they would ask whether she wished to go, or remain as Talon Town’s Matron. If she didn’t wake, they would simply take her.

He climbed the ladder and walked across the roof toward his chamber, inhaling the cedar smoke that rode the wind. The sweet pungency coated the back of his throat. Hundreds of fires sparkled across the canyon bottom, like topaz beads sewn on a cobalt velvet background.

Ironwood climbed down into his chamber.

The white walls reflected the dove-colored light pouring through the roof opening. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, then went to the pile of folded shirts at the head of his bed. He would need something warm and sturdy. He slipped his soiled shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He put on a plain doeskin shirt, tanned to a golden brown. The fringes on the sleeves and hem danced.

He closed up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then reached for his quiver of arrows and his favorite bow.

His eyes traced the fierce images of the thlatsinas, and went over each weapon on the wall. The water and seed beings that lived in the scalps whispered to him, their voices like whimpers of wind, but he couldn’t make out any of their words.

“Good-bye,” he said softly.

He lifted a hand and smoothed his fingers over the ornately carved bow presented to him by Crow Beard after the battle at Gila Monster Cliffs. The world had changed that day. He’d changed.

At Gila Monster Cliffs he had proven his value, not just to his chief, but to himself. For the first time since the deaths of his precious wife, Lupine, and their little son, he’d known who he was.

“Now I’m taking a new road. I pray the gods help me to find my way.”

One last time, Ironwood looked around, reliving every memory brought forth. Then he swiftly turned and climbed the ladder, fleeing before the sadness overcame him. He stood silently on the roof, fingering his bow.

An owl hovered over Propped Pillar, its wings tipping as the wind gusted. Evening People glittered across the sky.

Gnat crouched over the entry, a blanket around his shoulders.

Ironwood climbed down to the eastern plaza and headed for the First People’s kiva, his moccasins whispering on the dirt.

Inside him, exhilaration mixed with melancholy, creating a strange emptiness. He didn’t understand it, not fully. He would be with Night Sun. And, perhaps, their daughter, Cornsilk. He had been praying for this day for almost half his life. Why wasn’t he dancing? Sixteen summers ago, he would have.

You’re an old man now, Ironwood. Too soul weary for such foolish displays.

He neared the doorway to the altar room and, beside it, the gate that connected the halves of the plaza. Just before he ducked inside, he heard an unknown man’s voice.…

*   *   *

Gnat drew his blanket tightly around his shoulders. The shadows of evening were fading to night, the western horizon glowing with the last pale blue light. As hot as the day had been, night would bring a bone-numbing chill.

Gnat rubbed his eyes and craned his neck around. Fatigue had combined with worry to nibble at his senses. Talon Town was his responsibility. Now he finally understood why Webworm had been so jumpy and irritable over the last moon. Gnat’s own nerves were strung as tight as a sinew bowstring.

He could remember that last meeting with Webworm. “This is crazy! You’re leaving me four warriors? Four? I couldn’t guard a corn granary against a pack of children with that few men!”

Webworm had given him the dull, flat-eyed look of a man weary to the point of dropping and pointed across the plaza at Snake Head in his funeral regalia. “Do you want to go complain to the Blessed Sun?”

“No,” Gnat had growled. “But I’d give anything to have Crow Beard back.” And then his gut had knotted, fearing that he’d insulted Webworm and his position as War Chief. To his relief, Webworm had just smiled, said, “Me, too,” and strode off to take his place at the front of the procession.

Gnat turned to inspect the rising bulk of Talon Town, the white walls now ghostly in the gloom. Wisps of smoke carried from warming bowls and cooking fires. The whole place was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Gnat knew Ironwood and Night Sun would be facing hard questions when Snake Head and the clan elders returned. And then what? If the elders ordered their deaths, did this young Cornsilk become Matron?

Gnat tried to see the way of it all. Cornsilk would depose Snake Head, or at least, he hoped so. Anything would be better than Snake Head’s lunacy. Leaving me four warriors to guard Talon Town! Of course, if the need arose, he could call out all of the old men and women. Most of them could use bows, if poorly.

He turned uneasily, watching the shadowed flats. At least the decision to strip Talon Town of warriors had come so suddenly neither the Fire Dogs nor the Tower Builders would have had a chance to respond to the opportunity.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Gnat said to himself. “It’s only for four days. No one can organize a party of warriors that quickly.”

He grumbled and tucked his blanket tight again. Coyotes yipped in an eerie racket up on the cliffs. Well, good hunting to them. Rumor had it that people in the small villages had even been putting mice into their stews to extend their meat.

Gnat shifted uneasily. From the moment of Crow Beard’s death, it seemed the threads of the Straight Path world had started to unravel. As if a madness had possessed the people.

I could just leave. He cocked his head at the thought, as if listening to a Spirit voice. Would that be so bad?

And to think that only a few days ago he’d thought of becoming War Chief. Now he wouldn’t take the job if it were offered to him. He actually pitied Webworm.

He conjured images of the Green Mesa villages, of the roughhewn mountains that rose just to their north. He could see the clear rivers running down from those pine-and-spruce-covered heights to water fertile valleys.

They’d readily take a warrior of his reputation. Maybe it was time to marry into a family that owned good fields and a sturdy house. There’d be fighting aplenty with the Tower Builders, good hunting up in the mountains.

No more raids like Lanceleaf. No more worry about Snake Head’s lunacy, or weird murders, or whether Sternlight was a witch. No more plots!

He rubbed his fingers down the handle of his war club. I’ll do it! I’ll just up and go. He’d walk to his room, throw his few things into a pack, roll his blanket, and walk out. Just Go. Tonight. Right now!

He stood up, tempted, and made a face as he glanced up at the rising levels of Talon Town. A sinking sense settled on his heart. No, he owed it to Webworm to see this through. But just as soon as the War Chief returns, I’m going north.

He took a deep breath, relief flooding him. Then he heard footsteps in the darkness below the entrance. From long experience, he figured them as two people, both trotting.

“Who’s there?”

“A warrior, and a woman of the Ant Clan,” a man called back breathlessly, as though they’d been running hard. “We bear news from the Blessed Sun!”

Gnat winced. What had happened now? “Well, then, enter and come up here to tell me about it.”

He stretched his back muscles as the man and woman passed through the entryway and climbed the ladder. Despite the darkness, Gnat could see that the man was gray-haired, wearing a warrior’s shirt. A bow and quiver hung over his back, while he gripped a war club in his right hand.

Gnat didn’t recognize him, but then, with the Blessed Sun calling up so many for the funeral procession, it was no wonder. Take off the man’s red shirt and dress him in a weaver’s smock, and maybe his face would tug a memory.

The woman looked vaguely familiar. He squinted at her in the darkness. “All right, tell me. What kind of idiocy has the Blessed Sun thought up this time?”

“You won’t like it,” the man said as he walked close and gave Gnat a grim smile. No, this was no weaver, but a true warrior. Why didn’t he recog—

“You remember Lanceleaf Village, Gnat?” the woman asked hollowly. “You were there. You helped to kill Beargrass, and my son.”

“Beargrass?” Gnat started, swinging around to face the woman. “Thistle? Is that—”

He barely heard the whistle of the war club before it crushed his skull.

*   *   *

Jay Bird caught Gnat’s body as he slumped and eased him to the plastered roof. He took a moment to gauge Thistle’s response, but even in the darkness he could see her steely eyes as she stepped forward and peered at the warrior’s body. No doubt about it, this woman hated.

“Grab his other arm.” Together, he and Thistle propped the corpse up and crouched around him as if the three of them were talking. Then, looking out at the night, Jay Bird hooted in the soft imitation of an owl’s call.

A moment later shadows moved in the darkness. Howler’s three picked men slipped through the entryway and pursued their separate courses to silence the remaining guards, who stood gazing down at the roads. This was the most delicate part of the operation. If an alarm was to be given, it would come now. Still, none of them expected an assault from within their own walls.

All these summers, I have waited for this. Jay Bird filled his lungs with the cool night air, hoping to calm his pounding heart. The dead left in Crow Beard’s wake, Young Fawn’s captivity and death, all those wailing ghosts, would be avenged here, tonight, at Talon Town itself.

Jay Bird took a moment to be awed by the very size of the building. Five stories tall! It was huge! What talent it took to build walls capable of bearing so much stone and plaster!

“How did they ever build this?” he wondered aloud.

“One day, Great Chief, I’ll tell you. My own hands helped to raise the eastern walls.” Thistle paused, voice dropping. “In another world. Another life.”

A low whistle carried on the quiet night. One guard dead. Then, another, and—

“What?” the man on the eastern wall shouted. “Who are you! What do you—”

Jay Bird clenched a fist and looked up. His warrior had knocked the man flat. In the starlight, he could see them wrestling on the rooftop, rolling over and over. Finally, the sound of club against skull split the night, then a groan, a whistle, and all went silent again.

Jay Bird turned and motioned. Thirty warriors flowed through the entryway in a smooth stream. They moved with such silence, only the grating of sandals on the ground marked their invasion of Talon Town.

Jay Bird and Thistle hurried down the ladder to meet the warriors, motioning them into the shadows of the line of rooms that divided the plaza.

Thistle pointed to the upper stories in the eastern tier of the town. “Those are the rooms of the First People. That’s where you will find Night Sun. Her chamber is there, that T-shaped doorway.”

Jay Bird translated her words to his warriors, and motioned the first party of ten to get moving. They trotted across the plaza and charged up the ladders beside the Great Warriors. In the dim light the gods appeared to be glowering down with malignant intent.

“The slaves are locked in the circular chambers over there,” Jay Bird told Howler, and waved to the rooms. “You’ll need to drop a ladder down to them and remind them to be quiet as they make their escape.”

Howler nodded and took the second group of ten warriors.

“That doorway next to the gate leads to the First People’s kiva.” Thistle led Jay Bird and the remaining warriors along the strip of rooms dividing the plaza and toward the door.

At that moment, a man shouted, then came scuffling noises and groans.

“What’s happening?” Jay Bird called softly. Two of his warriors dragged a big, gray-haired man through the gate. It took both of them to hold him. Jay Bird instinctively clutched his war club, dropping into a crouch. He could hear his warriors drawing nocked arrows against bowstrings.

A war club was raised to dispatch the struggling man when Thistle called out, “Wait! It’s Ironwood!”

“Stop!” Jay Bird called out in his own tongue. “We need him.”

“We found him scrambling up a ladder, trying to warn the guards,” the tall warrior, Foxbat, whispered.

“Ironwood,” Jay Bird said with a frozen smile. “It’s been such a long time.” Jay Bird reached out, offering his hand.

To his surprise, the Straight Path warrior looked around at the men surrounding him, then nervously accepted Jay Bird’s hand, asking, “Who are you? Why—”

Jay Bird yanked him close, drew his stiletto from his belt, and jammed the sharpened tip against Ironwood’s neck. “Make no sound, War Chief, or I drive this point home. Now, listen closely. Do you know Cornsilk? A girl from Lanceleaf Village? Tell me this instant, or you and a great many people will die.”

“Who are you?” Ironwood hissed between clenched teeth.

“Her grandfather!”

Ironwood shook his head in confusion. “What?”

Thistle stepped forward, close enough that Ironwood could see her clearly. She said, “I’ve come to save my daughter, Ironwood. Where is she? The Cage?”

Jay Bird felt Ironwood swallow, his throat working against the point of the stiletto. His eyes widened as he gazed down at Thistle. “No. She’s … she’s in the kiva, Thistle. Why are you doing this?”

“Because she’s all I have left, Ironwood. Come on, this way!” Thistle hurried forward.

“Foxbat!” Jay Bird shoved Ironwood to the two warriors who’d captured him. “Quickly! Bind his hands and tie a cord around his neck so you can choke him down if he tries to scream.”

He and his warriors trailed along after Thistle into the splendidly painted altar room, and then descended the stairs into the great kiva with its four red masonry pillars and stunning array of masks.

“Cornsilk!” Thistle cried, running toward a knot of people gathered around a prostrate young woman.

A tall woman rose to her feet and gave Jay Bird a wary look. The three men stood up one at a time, whispering uneasily to each other.

“Surround them!” Jay Bird gestured to each side. “Search this place. Take anything that looks valuable.” Then, as his warriors scattered, scooping offerings from the wall niches and pulling down sacred masks, Jay Bird stepped toward the waiting people, his heart in his throat.

Thistle knelt at the unconscious girl’s side. Was this his granddaughter? For the moment, he could see little beyond the dark ugly bruise, the swelling on one side of her face.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

The woman, a slender hard-eyed beauty, spoke. “She was shot in the face with an arrow. An attempted murder. Who are you?” She scanned the warriors. “What do you want?”

Jay Bird raised his eyes, reacting to the tone of command. No one had ever addressed him like that. He met her stare, read her growing alarm as she watched his warriors stealing the most precious artifacts of her people. One of his men threw a magnificent Green Mesa pot to the floor, where it shattered and spilled its contents across the dirt. The warrior gleefully scooped them up.

“That’s enough,” Jay Bird ordered his men. “We may have only moments left before someone sounds the alarm. Stuff what you have in your packs and surround these people. They’re coming with us.”

He turned to the tall woman. “What is your name? And don’t lie to me, or you’ll be dead.”

“I am Night Sun.” At that instant, she gasped and took a running step forward. Jay Bird looked where she did and saw Ironwood being shoved in ahead of Foxbat, bound and gagged.

Jay Bird caught her arm and jerked her backward. “And these people?” He nodded to the old man, the curiously tranquil priest, and the youth who watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes. The boy had twined a hand in Cornsilk’s blood-soaked yellow sleeve.

The white-haired elder with the deeply wrinkled face stepped forward. “I am Dune, called the holy Derelict. Beside me is Sternlight, Sunwatcher of Talon Town. The young man is my assistant, Poor Singer. Apparently, you already know Cornsilk. What is it you wish from us, Great Jay Bird?”

At the name, Night Sun and Poor Singer reacted as if slapped. Sternlight only stared, an odd light burning in his eyes. He did not seem to see the kiva, crawling with mortal enemies, but gazed into another world.

“How is Cornsilk?” Jay Bird asked. Thistle was holding the girl’s hand. “Will she live?”

“Of course she will,” Night Sun said. “I tended her wounds myself. Now I demand to know…”

Ironwood shook his head, and Night Sun caught it. She shot him a quick look, and whatever she had wished to demand, she decided against it. She squared her narrow shoulders and leveled a glare at Jay Bird.

Jay Bird lifted an eyebrow. “As much as I would like to linger and enjoy the hospitality of Talon Town, I simply haven’t the time. I do, however, look forward to getting to know all of you. At Gila Monster Cliffs. Within the walls of my own village we will have fewer interruptions.” He gestured threateningly with his stiletto. “The first one of you who resists, or seeks to impede our progress, will force me to take my displeasure out on Night Sun.” He searched their eyes, one by one—especially Ironwood’s. “Do you understand?”

Even the War Chief nodded.

“Let’s go!” Jay Bird turned toward the exit.

“Great Chief?” Foxbat asked. His lean feral face had tensed. “What of the old man? I don’t think he could walk across the room, let alone make the march back to Gila Monster Cliffs. Should I kill him?”

“Kill the holy Derelict? No, my friend.” Jay Bird gripped his warrior’s arm. “He’s worth too much to us. We’ll carry him and Cornsilk. When we get outside, take some ladders. They’ll serve just fine for litters.”

“Yes, my chief.” The man trotted for the stairs.

Jay Bird knelt by Cornsilk and scrutinized her. Wrapped in three blankets, she looked warm. Her breathing came in quick shallow gasps, but she seemed to be sleeping soundly. Very gently, Jay Bird slipped his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, and lifted her. “Howler? Take everyone else ahead of me and make certain the plaza is secure. I’ll carry my granddaughter myself.”

“I understand.”

Howler gestured to one of the warriors who held Ironwood. “Black Quill, throw your cape around Ironwood, and take him out first, just in case someone gets excited and decides to shoot before they look.”

“Yes,” Black Quill removed his black-and-white cape and tied it around Ironwood’s shoulders. The big man glared defiantly as the warriors shoved him toward the stairway.

With a practiced efficiency, Howler directed the departure of the rest of the people. “Take the priests next, then the youth and the woman.”

Jay Bird waited, clutching Cornsilk to his chest, until the last warrior had trotted up the steps, then he carried his granddaughter out and into the cool night. Talon Town had turned a pale blue in the moonlight. Someone cried out … then screamed. A dog barked. Dark figures, many calling out in the Mogollon tongue, hurried across the plaza for the entry, escaping into the darkness.

Foxbat and Howler ran up carrying a ladder and a coil of yucca rope.

“Good,” Jay Bird said. “Place it on the ground.”

They did, and Jay Bird carefully lowered Cornsilk to the pine rungs. The blankets would cushion her body, but her right ear rested on a bare pole. Jay Bird removed his cape, folded it and tucked it beneath her injured head. “Tie her down and let’s be off.”

“Yes, my chief.”

Jay Bird stood, cupped his hands to his mouth, and made a shrill whistle, recalling the warriors inside the walls. As they trotted past, Jay Bird turned to the two men who carried Cornsilk. She lay on the ladder wrapped in blankets. Jay Bird gazed at her swollen face with his heart thumping, searching, searching for some resemblance to his daughter. He saw nothing, but perhaps later he would, when the swelling went down. “Be very careful with my granddaughter.”

“It’s our honor, Great Chief.” From the tone, he knew she’d be coddled like a fragile pot.

Two warriors held Sternlight in hard hands. They rushed him past toward the entry. He looked like a man caught in a horrifying snare, ready to chew off his foot to escape. One by one warriors trooped out, some bloody, all carrying sacks of loot over their shoulders, or prodding captives before them, mostly young women who had dared to look out of their chambers when they heard the racket. A hollow wailing pierced the night.

The holy Derelict passed, riding a ladder carried by two burly warriors, clutching the rungs as if for dear life, a sour, humiliated look on his face.

Two more warriors shoved Night Sun forward, her hands bound, a thong about her neck. Her eyes were those of a woman seeing her world die.

Look well, Matron, for after this night, the Straight Path people shall never be the same.

To Jay Bird’s surprise, Ironwood tried to touch Cornsilk as her ladder rushed by, but Foxbat pulled him back and choked him into submission.

Ironwood staggered, coughed, then struggled to turn to Jay Bird, calling, “Jay Bird? Listen to me!”

“What is it?”

“You and I, we know each other.” Ironwood fought for breath, wheezing. “If you will treat Night Sun well … I—I’ll do whatever you wish of me. Do you understand? Anything.”

Jay Bird heard the desperation and found it … interesting. Then he caught the look Ironwood and Night Sun exchanged. Jay Bird nodded to himself. “Yes, I think I do understand.”

The lowly War Chief loved the great Matron of Talon Town? A brave man, indeed. Perhaps, for that reason, Jay Bird would take Night Sun as his consort—as Ironwood had taken Jay Bird’s daughter.

As they rushed out through the entry and into the night, they passed Gnat’s dead body, crumpled in a black heap beside the wall.

Jay Bird turned one last time, pride swelling inside him as he gazed upon the great stronghold of the Straight Path people—a stronghold that had fallen to his cunning. What a raid! It shall be talked about by my grandchildren’s grandchildren. My only regret is that I can’t leave it in flames!

The slaves raced ahead down the road like thirsty beasts scenting water. Hushed weeping mixed oddly with joyous whispers.

Jay Bird, in his ring of warriors, sprinted after them.

The other villages had wakened. People rushed around the roofs of Streambed Town, gasping, pointing.

“Come on!” he yelled, waving a fist over his head. “Run. Run hard!”