Free The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear Page A
Authors: W. Michael Gear
disbelief.
There was only a hint of fear in his voice when Gonda replied, “Odion must have asked to do it. I don’t hear any bows singing, do you?”
“Not yet.”
Rustling and snapping sounded in the forest as warriors shouldered through the brush, getting into better position. Their faces were silvered by the moonlight, and he could see them smiling, displaying an arrogance Cord knew well—the arrogance that fills a warrior when he knows he’s won. It was an arrogance of possession. The prey already belonged to them. The kill was just a matter of time.
Gonda swung around toward the noise. “They’re tightening the circle.”
Cord used his nocked arrow to point. “I’m most worried about those three. See them?”
In the bottom of the ravine, three youths bellied along the ground, moving toward Odion.
“If they capture your son, what will you do?” Cord asked.
“When it happens, I’ll let you know.”
Odion clenched his fists and stood tall, though he must be terrified. Admiration warmed Cord’s veins. “Someday soon that boy is going to make a fine warrior.”
Gonda glanced down at him, and his lips twitched. “You would not have said that one moon ago. I considered my own son to be a coward. He was afraid of everything.”
“That flaw isn’t apparent tonight. What changed?”
Gonda blinked thoughtfully. “Something. Gannajero.”
Cord knew better than to ask any further questions. Such dramatic changes were only born in terror and pain. He returned his gaze to the bodies slinking toward them through the moonlight. Warriors seemed to be everywhere. Their pursuers were growing bolder, venturing well into bow range. On the opposite side of the ravine, two black shapes scrambled to within springing distance of Sindak and Ogwed. What was Koracoo doing? It was well past time to shout the command to fire. Of course, when that happened, they would likely all be killed.
Cord hissed, “Why haven’t they loosed their arrows? They could have killed four or five of us by now, and captured the rest.”
“That’s why Koracoo is waiting. She’s trying to figure out what they are up to first. A man should never taunt a bear that has him treed. The bear might, after all, just walk away.”
“A wise move.” If he’d had his wits about him, he’d be doing exactly what Koracoo was—waiting.
The unknown boy emerged from the shadows and walked up the ravine to meet Odion. Though the Dawnland boy was frighteningly thin, little more than a skin bag stretched over knobby bones and stringy muscles, he was a head taller than Odion. If it came to a fight, Cord suspected the wolf-boy would win.
To his right, Cord saw Koracoo’s dark form step from behind the boulder where she’d been hiding. Was she preparing to kill the unknown boy if he attacked her son?
“The boys seem to be talking,” Gonda said. “But I can’t hear …”
Before he knew what was happening, Cord’s eyes fluttered closed. When he jerked out of the doze, it startled Gonda, who snapped, “For the sake of the gods, Cord!”
“F-Forgive me.” A spasm of fear went through him. He got on his knees, drew his bow again, and fought to keep his eyes open. The boys were gesturing with their hands.
“Stay awake,” Gonda warned, “or I’ll shoot you myself.”
Rage briefly surged through Cord’s veins, then vanished. This man had children to protect. He had every right to demand alertness. “I will.”
Odion backed away from the unknown boy and called, “Mother? They’re looking for a Trader named Tagohsah.”
“Tagohsah?” Cord said in surprise. “He’s a Flint Trader. A despicable character. What do they want with him?”
Gonda said, “Stay down. Let me do the talking.” To the boy, he called, “I have heard of Tagohsah! He’s a Flint Trader, but he’s not here. Why do you wish to find him?”
“He has my cousin!” the boy shouted back. “A ten-summers-old girl.”
Cord leaned against the boulder and
There was only a hint of fear in his voice when Gonda replied, “Odion must have asked to do it. I don’t hear any bows singing, do you?”
“Not yet.”
Rustling and snapping sounded in the forest as warriors shouldered through the brush, getting into better position. Their faces were silvered by the moonlight, and he could see them smiling, displaying an arrogance Cord knew well—the arrogance that fills a warrior when he knows he’s won. It was an arrogance of possession. The prey already belonged to them. The kill was just a matter of time.
Gonda swung around toward the noise. “They’re tightening the circle.”
Cord used his nocked arrow to point. “I’m most worried about those three. See them?”
In the bottom of the ravine, three youths bellied along the ground, moving toward Odion.
“If they capture your son, what will you do?” Cord asked.
“When it happens, I’ll let you know.”
Odion clenched his fists and stood tall, though he must be terrified. Admiration warmed Cord’s veins. “Someday soon that boy is going to make a fine warrior.”
Gonda glanced down at him, and his lips twitched. “You would not have said that one moon ago. I considered my own son to be a coward. He was afraid of everything.”
“That flaw isn’t apparent tonight. What changed?”
Gonda blinked thoughtfully. “Something. Gannajero.”
Cord knew better than to ask any further questions. Such dramatic changes were only born in terror and pain. He returned his gaze to the bodies slinking toward them through the moonlight. Warriors seemed to be everywhere. Their pursuers were growing bolder, venturing well into bow range. On the opposite side of the ravine, two black shapes scrambled to within springing distance of Sindak and Ogwed. What was Koracoo doing? It was well past time to shout the command to fire. Of course, when that happened, they would likely all be killed.
Cord hissed, “Why haven’t they loosed their arrows? They could have killed four or five of us by now, and captured the rest.”
“That’s why Koracoo is waiting. She’s trying to figure out what they are up to first. A man should never taunt a bear that has him treed. The bear might, after all, just walk away.”
“A wise move.” If he’d had his wits about him, he’d be doing exactly what Koracoo was—waiting.
The unknown boy emerged from the shadows and walked up the ravine to meet Odion. Though the Dawnland boy was frighteningly thin, little more than a skin bag stretched over knobby bones and stringy muscles, he was a head taller than Odion. If it came to a fight, Cord suspected the wolf-boy would win.
To his right, Cord saw Koracoo’s dark form step from behind the boulder where she’d been hiding. Was she preparing to kill the unknown boy if he attacked her son?
“The boys seem to be talking,” Gonda said. “But I can’t hear …”
Before he knew what was happening, Cord’s eyes fluttered closed. When he jerked out of the doze, it startled Gonda, who snapped, “For the sake of the gods, Cord!”
“F-Forgive me.” A spasm of fear went through him. He got on his knees, drew his bow again, and fought to keep his eyes open. The boys were gesturing with their hands.
“Stay awake,” Gonda warned, “or I’ll shoot you myself.”
Rage briefly surged through Cord’s veins, then vanished. This man had children to protect. He had every right to demand alertness. “I will.”
Odion backed away from the unknown boy and called, “Mother? They’re looking for a Trader named Tagohsah.”
“Tagohsah?” Cord said in surprise. “He’s a Flint Trader. A despicable character. What do they want with him?”
Gonda said, “Stay down. Let me do the talking.” To the boy, he called, “I have heard of Tagohsah! He’s a Flint Trader, but he’s not here. Why do you wish to find him?”
“He has my cousin!” the boy shouted back. “A ten-summers-old girl.”
Cord leaned against the boulder and