“War Leader,” Nutcracker, the squadron second, said hastily, “we’re doing everything we can.”
Spotted Wrist fumed, stomped his foot. “I am humiliated. And in front of those fawning Earth Clans chiefs. Not to mention the embassies from half the world! Why? Because that arrogant young woman treats me like some low-born suitor, I might be as good as a dirt farmer in her eyes. One of these unwashed, incomprehensible rabble who’ve flocked to Cahokia. I am Spotted Wrist! I’ve been taking care of her since she was an infant swaddled in cattail down.”
“War Leader”—Blood Talon took his stand, back to the door—“she has special standing with the reincarnated Morning Star. The word is that she’s possessed by the spirit of Piasa, that the Underworld and the living god—”
“I know the rumors, pus take them, and I know Night Shadow Star. She’s always been impetuous. Never had to face the consequences of her actions. I spent half my time when she was a girl keeping her and her uncontrolled brothers from facing the consequences. I wouldn’t be in this position if her father were still alive. Red Warrior Tenkiller wouldn’t stand for it.”
Spotted Wrist’s face puckered, as if he’d just remembered something. “Thought she was finally becoming a woman instead of a spoiled little wild weasel. When they reincarnated the Morning Star into Chunkey Boy’s body something happened. She passed her woman’s moon and married Three Falls. Was taking her place in the leadership. At least until he was killed up north.
“Figured she’d have cut that Red Wing we sent her into little pieces. By rain and hail, he sure wasn’t much when we tossed his sorry carcass into that canoe and sent him downriver.
“No,” Spotted Wrist mused. “And now he’s her lap dog. Her slave. And she dotes on him.”
Nutcracker muttered, “Half the city thinks he’s serving her as more than a slave. Rumor is that he’s just as adept with his shaft as he is on the chunkey court or in combat. If he’s half as good under the covers as his reputation, you may have to poison him after you finally marry the woman.”
The frown deepened on Spotted Wrist’s forehead. “Wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s given up everything for a tingle in her sheath. Word was that she and Makes Three…”
As his commander hesitated, Blood Talon saw the man’s change of expression. “Yes, War Leader? I know that look.”
Spotted Wrist slapped a fist into his palm. “If she’s as beguiled by the Red Wing as she was by Three Falls, it would destroy her in the event that anything happened to her bed toy.”
“You mean like last time, she’d fall apart.” Blood Talon remembered the way Night Shadow Star had grieved for her dead husband. The woman had lost her souls to the Underworld. So great was her grief that she’d become totally listless.
“She’d have agreed to anything,” Spotted Wrist whispered. “It broke her will.”
Nutcracker asked, “So if something should happen to the Red Wing?”
“That’s not even difficult.” Blood Talon grinned. “A well-placed arrow? Shot from ambush? Say, in the middle of a crowd? Who’d know?”
“Maybe have someone anonymous, one of our warriors, dressed as a … a dirt farmer,” Nutcracker said. “You know, just hand Fire Cat a cup of soup laced with water hemlock. I’ve seen how the people adore him. The stories they tell have made him into a walking legend. People offer him food and drink all the time.”
“Water hemlock’s a terrible way to die,” Blood Talon added. “If Night Shadow Star calls old Rides-the-Lightning, he’ll know which poison it was.”
Nutcracker lifted his hands, looking innocent. “They’d never know who did it. Just a face in the crowd.”
Spotted Wrist added, “It’s not like the Red Wing doesn’t have enemies. I’ve heard that the Natchez and the Quiz Quiz, not to mention some of the other Houses, bear him ill will.”
“Or one of us could sneak in and smack his brains out in the middle of the night. Set up an ambush, something that would draw him out of her palace…”
Spotted Wrist narrowed his gaze. “It can’t look like an assassination. She’d know we were behind it.”
Nutcracker crossed his arms. “We’d do it in a manner that couldn’t be traced back to us.”
“She’d know. Believe me.”
“Then it has to look like an accident,” Blood Talon told them. “A drowning. A slip or fall. Something.”
Nutcracker made a face. “Have to get close for that. When have we ever had the chance?” He glanced at Spotted Wrist. “Lord, if you could make some plan? Get her to accompany you out away from the city? Perhaps find some pretext to get her to journey with you to the Moon Temple over east? The lunar maximum is coming up, after all.”
“Once out of town we would have to separate her from him,” Blood Talon said. “He’s always with her. Can’t have her witness us breaking his neck.”
“We don’t have time,” Spotted Wrist said. “She leaves in three days. I need him dead now.”
“Poison,” Nutcracker insisted. “Concentrated essence of acorn leechings mixed with boiled nightshade and poison ivy leaves. It just shuts the body down.”
“I’d rather kill him outright. Face to face. But how do we manage that?” Blood Talon asked. “It’s not like I can just walk up to him and challenge him to combat.”
Spotted Wrist straightened, a gleam coming to his eyes. “Why not?”
“Well, War Leader, it would be pretty obvious, don’t you think? You said it can’t be traced back to us. Night Shadow Star is going to be pretty certain who’s behind it if I’m standing over his dead body while I’m wiping his blood and brains off my war club.”
“Who said it had to be combat?” Spotted Wrist arched an eyebrow. “No, it’s a friendly bout. Just sparring for practice. After all, you’re in charge of the squadron accompanying the Cofitachequi expedition. Just a routine training match, a way to feel out his worth and skill prior to the coming trip. But somehow it goes wrong.”
Nutcracker was grinning. “And accidents do happen.”
“Do you think it would be that easy?” Blood Talon felt his blood begin to race. “He’s supposed to be the greatest warrior in Cahokia if you believe the stories told in the Great Plaza.”
Spotted Wrist waved it away. “Stories are like penises. They grow in the telling. So, the Red Wing killed a bunch of Itza warriors? Me, I’ve never seen an Itza fight. We were up north, doing real fighting. And I’d put Blood Talon up against anyone in the whole of Cahokia when it came to the club and shield. Think, Nutcracker. Who, among all the warriors you know, is better?”
Nutcracker lifted an eyebrow.
“That’s right.” Spotted Wrist stepped up, placed a hand on Blood Talon’s shoulder. “Now, you really can make it look like an accident, can’t you?”
“Absolutely, War Leader. I’ll be horrified. Brokenhearted. On my knees on the point of tears when she comes rushing up. And, oh so sorry. I’ll offer to kill myself.”
“No need to go that far.” A pause. “But I will have to exile you. Make a show of your punishment. Some demonstration of my rage and displeasure. You understand that, don’t you?”
Blood Talon broke out in laughter. “What of it? You’ll be married and have Lady Night Shadow Star’s title. I’ll be headed off in charge of the expedition within days anyway. By the time I return in glory from Cofitachequi, who will remember a dead slave?”
Four
The last of his clan and lineage, Fire Cat was in his early thirties. Once he had been the most renowned warrior on the upper Father Water, war chief of Red Wing Town, and son of Clan Matron Dancing Sky. Now Fire Cat, his mother, and two sisters were slaves. Conquered and captured by War Chief Spotted Wrist.
Weapon in hand, he faced one of the men who had planned and carried out his downfall.
That knowledge burned within Fire Cat as he leaped and swung his copper-bitted war club. What was supposed to be an impromptu sparring match now felt as if it had a sinister purpose.
Squadr
on First Blood Talon had arrived at Night Shadow Star’s palace that morning accompanied by five of his most respected warriors. Said that since they would be traveling together on such a long and dangerous journey, perhaps they might train. Get the feel of each other’s mettle.
Always anxious to hone his skill, Fire Cat had agreed. From the first trading of blows, this had been anything but a friendly bout. Fire Cat could see it in his opponent’s eyes, in the viciousness of his attack.
Nor was that fact lost on the watching warriors as the two combatants circled and clashed in the small yard before Night Shadow Star’s mound-top palace.
Blood Talon caught Fire Cat’s blow on his shield, the impact making a loud crack. Fire Cat felt the sting of it through the handle of his war club.
“I enjoyed taking both of your wives,” Blood Talon remarked as he backpedaled. “Now I know why they moaned as I drove my shaft into them. They’d never had the pleasure of being filled by a real man.”
Fire Cat feinted, fighting his rage. Somehow he managed to keep his head. Strangled the urge to charge, to beat this man down, to hammer his way through the shield and smash the brains from Blood Talon’s head.
“Your children were difficult. They screamed and bawled like deer fawns as we cut them apart. Alive. So they’d know true pain and terror. But my warriors took turns shooting their seed into your little daughters. Wanted them to know what a good hard shaft felt like. A kindness, you know, since they would be dead so soon.”
Fire Cat barely checked a mad rush at the man.
From the cunning smile on Blood Talon’s face, the squadron first was hoping for just that. Which meant he had a plan, some way of turning that reckless charge into a trap. Was it something to do with the watching warriors? So far, they had done nothing to intercede, just stood, faces stiff and eyes hot with anticipation.
I hate this man.
Fire Cat’s body ached with the need to kill. Under Spotted Wrist’s command, Blood Talon had directed the sack of Red Wing Town. Nor did Fire Cat doubt the man’s boast that he’d led the gang rape of False Dawn and New Fall Moon before they were given in slavery to some forest chieftain. Spotted Wrist’s goal had been to erase every last vestige of Red Wing heresy. Wipe it clean from the face of the earth.
They expect me to travel all the way to Cofitachequi in his company? If I kill him now …
From the way Blood Talon attacked, struck, and parried, he must have shared Fire Cat’s dislike. Every fiber of Fire Cat’s being tingled with the comprehension that something deeper was at play here.
He wants me to lose control.
Fire Cat leaped right. Landed. His balance perfect, he darted left as Blood Talon’s backhanded strike whistled through the air where Fire Cat had been but an instant before.
Fire Cat twisted right, and back, his club held before him in perfect form.
Blood Talon no longer had breath for taunts, the first flickers of doubt behind his eyes.
In unison, they crashed together, smashing shields, war clubs clashing as they struggled to throw the other off balance. Blood Talon broke first, retreating, seeking some advantage.
Fire Cat held back, biding his time. Blood Talon, if he had any fault, was weakest on the attack. A slight desire to rush his offense and overpower rather than finesse a killing blow.
But who is the sacrifice? Me? Or him?
Both men crouched, panting, each trying to anticipate his opponent’s next move. Sweat beaded on their skin. Trickled from beneath the wood-and-leather armor that encased their chests and shoulders. Arm guards protected their forearms. Heavy leather helmets covered their heads. A crowd had gathered below the flat mound top where they sparred. The watching warriors were looking nervous now, as if whatever was supposed to happen had gone awry.
If I am killed, Night Shadow Star will accede to Spotted Wrist’s demand that she marry him. If I kill him? Who stands to gain?
The morning sun pierced the last of the clouds that had hung low over Cahokia. Days of cold drizzle had finally ceased and reluctantly surrendered to a misty steam that rose where the sun warmed the sides of the mound.
Replaying the man’s moves, it came to Fire Cat that Blood Talon, while excellent at defense, did follow a peculiar pattern. Yes, that just might be the key.
“You’ve been played. Who wants you dead? What do they gain?” Fire Cat asked.
“Just sparring,” Blood Talon said past tight lips. “Wanted to know what sort you were before my back was turned.”
“Figured it out yet?”
“Pretty much.” Blood Talon charged forward, shield up, head down, as if to barrel his way right through Fire Cat. Again the shields clashed. Fire Cat skipped sideways, away from Blood Talon’s wicked right swing; the war club hissed as it cut air where Fire Cat’s head had been.
Had it connected, it would have caved in Fire Cat’s helmet, skull, and brains.
Fire Cat leaped, slashed with his club, danced to one side, and whipped the club in a backhanded strike. Blood Talon parried, ducked right, and used all the strength in his body in an attempt to knock Fire Cat’s shield to the side with an uppercut. The club head blurred up from between the man’s knees with serpent-like speed.
Fire Cat barely managed to tilt his shield in time: the blow skipped off the battered surface. Momentum carried the war club high through its arc.
Fire Cat saw it in Blood Talon’s eyes: the stark realization of his mistake, that the squadron first was defenseless, the knowledge that he was a mere heartbeat away from death.
Fire Cat was already swinging, using his excellent control to stop the keen copper edge just as it touched Blood Talon’s exposed neck. Then he let the war club settle onto the man’s armored shoulder, all the while staring into his opponent’s startled eyes.
I could have severed his neck.
A tiny measure of revenge for what had happened to his family and people at Red Wing Town.
Even better, the reality was right there in Blood Talon’s eyes. He’d not only failed at what he’d come to accomplish, but knew that had Fire Cat played for keeps, he’d be dying on the very ground he stood upon.
The watching warriors were whispering back and forth, wary and disbelieving eyes on Fire Cat. One, the squadron second, Nutcracker, was shaking his head, as if trying to convince himself of what he’d just witnessed.
“Pus and blood!” Blood Talon cried, stepping back, lowering his shield and war club. Panic filled his eyes as he gasped for breath. A violent loathing lurked there, backed by a froth of resentment and disgust.
“Let me guess. Accidents happen in training. You’d approach my lady looking remarkably contrite. ‘Sorry, Lady Night Shadow Star, my club slipped.’ Or maybe, ‘Apologies, Lady, but he stepped right into my blow before I could check my swing. So sorry. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.’”
“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, slave?” Blood Talon’s rising anger had him on the point of trembling. “We know you for what you are. You just got lucky.” He sneered the word: “Hero.”
“Combat is always a gamble, Squadron First. You never know how clever or fast or tenacious your opponent is going to be.”
“No, you don’t,” Blood Talon admitted reluctantly as he gasped for breath. “Today is yours. It won’t always be.”
And with that, the squadron first inclined his head in deadly promise. As he did, his beaded forelock bobbed where it hung down from under the brim of his war helmet. Turning, he gestured for the others to follow, waving away their questions and mutters of disappointment as they headed for the stairs.
Why, in Piasa’s name, would a lauded squadron first ask for a “training” match? Especially given Fire Cat’s reputation as a warrior?
But then, Spotted Wrist and his warriors never saw me fight the Itza. All they’ve heard are the wild stories.
Fire Cat watched the squadron first and his men pass between the guardian posts where Piasa stood to the right, Horned Serpent to the left. Then they d
escended the wooden steps that led down to the avenue below. There the crowd of pilgrims, Traders, and dirt farmers parted, all calling out, talking among themselves and pointing as Blood Talon and his warriors shoved them out of the way.
Behind Fire Cat, Night Shadow Star’s palace rose high, the plastered walls white, the steep wedge of thatched roof grayed by winter storms. From the veranda a full view of the Great Plaza could be had, as well as of the Avenue of the Sun, which served as the major east-west thoroughfare that bisected the city of Cahokia.
Immediately to the east rose the Morning Star’s Great Mound with its south-facing walled terrace upon which the Council House was built. The Morning Star’s palace dominated the heights above the Council House and was reached through a grand staircase that led up the mound’s southern face to the gated compound with its soaring thatch-roofed temple and World Tree pole.
Fire Cat squinted, seeing the lone figure up in the high bastion. Something glinted in the morning light, the reflection from a polished copper headdress. Couldn’t be anyone else but Morning Star. Not up there.
So, is Chunkey Boy part of this?
Impostor he might be, but he always played a deep game.
Finally catching his breath, Fire Cat began releasing the ties that secured his armor. Fingers of fatigue began to rob his muscles of agility as the thrill of battle drained. Without a doubt, Blood Talon was one of the finest warriors Fire Cat had ever faced. It would have been the perfect assassination. This morning, he’d won by the narrowest of margins.
Piss and spit, I hate Cahokian politics.
Letting his cuirass fall, Fire Cat walked to the southwest corner of the mound to look down on the Avenue of the Sun. A flood of people, like a relentless mixing stream of ants, traveled the great avenue. From the west and River Mounds City came Traders, dirt farmers, stone workers, and gangs of men bearing great wooden logs. Others staggered along under high-piled stacks of firewood to feed the city’s voracious need. People with baskets hanging from tumplines that held corn, goosefoot seed, bread, fabrics, dried fish, smoked meats, feathers, pottery, and goods of every kind passed below.
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 3