Read Online The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online
Authors: W. Michael Gear
Ads: Link
nodded, “Towa, Dzadi, please see to that.”
“Yes, War Chief,” Towa said, and walked toward the children.
Dzadi hesitated. He turned to Cord and lifted his brows questioningly.
Cord said, “Go.”
Dzadi reluctantly stalked over to join Towa.
Koracoo continued, “Sindak, I want you and Ogwed across the ravine, behind that thicket of dogwoods.”
Sindak nodded, and he and Ogwed trotted away.
It disturbed Gonda that she’d split up the warriors, separating friends and forcing men from different peoples to work together. He’d never approved of that strategy. Gonda believed men fought harder with a friend at their back. But his way did not create alliances. Hers did. If an “enemy” warrior saved your life, he was no longer the enemy. She might be a war chief, but she was a peacemaker at heart. And that was another thing he’d never approved of. Peacemakers generally ended up dead.
“What about me, War Chief?” Cord asked. “Where do you want me?”
Koracoo studied the ravine with a practiced eye. “I want you with Gonda, up there.” She aimed her war club at the south side of the ravine.
Cord studied it, considered, and nodded his approval. “Good thinking. We’ll have clear shots.”
Gonda and Cord trudged up the slope to take their position.
Nine
B right, tree-filtered moonlight streamed across the forest. Cord shifted, and his movements repeated in vast amorphous shadows on the surrounding boulders. When Gonda frowned at him, he went still. Fatigue had made him as stupid as a clubbed dog. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get himself—and everyone else—killed. The true sign of his fatigue was that he was almost past caring. He sucked in a deep breath. The night breeze carried the damp exhalations from the kicked pine duff underfoot. He concentrated on the scent, using it to focus on staying awake.
“Are you all right?” Gonda whispered, barely audible.
Cord shook his head, and Gonda nodded in understanding. Gonda was a warrior. At some point in his life, he’d probably been in similar circumstances, so exhausted his brain seemed to have gone to sleep with his eyes wide open.
“Do you want to sleep for a few moments?” Gonda asked. “You don’t have to be awake until we see them. It might help.”
Cord shook his head. “No. I’m not sure I’d wake quickly enough. I have the feeling that when I can finally sleep, I won’t awaken for days.”
“All right. But we can’t afford to have you dozing off in the middle of the fight.”
“I won’t.” Blessed gods, let it be so.
Gonda turned to watch the trail again. He was a thin, wiry man with a round face. His short black hair had been chopped off with a knife, and he had a heavy brow that resembled a shelf over his brown eyes. Unlike the Flint People, who sewed finely tailored coats, he wore a plain buckskin cape that blended perfectly with the forest shadows—as was the way of the Standing Stone People. Dark splotches of blood spattered the cape’s front. Recently, he’d been in a deadly battle.
With whom?
Cord’s thoughts wandered, imagining the fight, and his head started to fall forward. He jerked upright and shook himself. It took an act of will to keep his eyes open. Whether he wanted to or not, very soon, sleep would claim him. His body would simply be unable to stave it off.
“What are you doing in Dawnland country with four children, Gonda?” he asked softly. “Are you uncommonly brave, or dim-witted?”
Gonda answered without taking his gaze from the trail. “Well, it’s a long story.”
“Tell me, if you can. It will help me keep my eyes open.”
Gonda glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Twenty days ago, our village was attacked and destroyed by Mountain warriors. They stole several of our children. Koracoo and I went after them. In the process, we had occasion to stop at a Hills People village, Atotarho Village—”
“Why would you stop there? Atotarho is an evil old sorcerer, and he hates all
“Yes, War Chief,” Towa said, and walked toward the children.
Dzadi hesitated. He turned to Cord and lifted his brows questioningly.
Cord said, “Go.”
Dzadi reluctantly stalked over to join Towa.
Koracoo continued, “Sindak, I want you and Ogwed across the ravine, behind that thicket of dogwoods.”
Sindak nodded, and he and Ogwed trotted away.
It disturbed Gonda that she’d split up the warriors, separating friends and forcing men from different peoples to work together. He’d never approved of that strategy. Gonda believed men fought harder with a friend at their back. But his way did not create alliances. Hers did. If an “enemy” warrior saved your life, he was no longer the enemy. She might be a war chief, but she was a peacemaker at heart. And that was another thing he’d never approved of. Peacemakers generally ended up dead.
“What about me, War Chief?” Cord asked. “Where do you want me?”
Koracoo studied the ravine with a practiced eye. “I want you with Gonda, up there.” She aimed her war club at the south side of the ravine.
Cord studied it, considered, and nodded his approval. “Good thinking. We’ll have clear shots.”
Gonda and Cord trudged up the slope to take their position.
Nine
B right, tree-filtered moonlight streamed across the forest. Cord shifted, and his movements repeated in vast amorphous shadows on the surrounding boulders. When Gonda frowned at him, he went still. Fatigue had made him as stupid as a clubbed dog. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get himself—and everyone else—killed. The true sign of his fatigue was that he was almost past caring. He sucked in a deep breath. The night breeze carried the damp exhalations from the kicked pine duff underfoot. He concentrated on the scent, using it to focus on staying awake.
“Are you all right?” Gonda whispered, barely audible.
Cord shook his head, and Gonda nodded in understanding. Gonda was a warrior. At some point in his life, he’d probably been in similar circumstances, so exhausted his brain seemed to have gone to sleep with his eyes wide open.
“Do you want to sleep for a few moments?” Gonda asked. “You don’t have to be awake until we see them. It might help.”
Cord shook his head. “No. I’m not sure I’d wake quickly enough. I have the feeling that when I can finally sleep, I won’t awaken for days.”
“All right. But we can’t afford to have you dozing off in the middle of the fight.”
“I won’t.” Blessed gods, let it be so.
Gonda turned to watch the trail again. He was a thin, wiry man with a round face. His short black hair had been chopped off with a knife, and he had a heavy brow that resembled a shelf over his brown eyes. Unlike the Flint People, who sewed finely tailored coats, he wore a plain buckskin cape that blended perfectly with the forest shadows—as was the way of the Standing Stone People. Dark splotches of blood spattered the cape’s front. Recently, he’d been in a deadly battle.
With whom?
Cord’s thoughts wandered, imagining the fight, and his head started to fall forward. He jerked upright and shook himself. It took an act of will to keep his eyes open. Whether he wanted to or not, very soon, sleep would claim him. His body would simply be unable to stave it off.
“What are you doing in Dawnland country with four children, Gonda?” he asked softly. “Are you uncommonly brave, or dim-witted?”
Gonda answered without taking his gaze from the trail. “Well, it’s a long story.”
“Tell me, if you can. It will help me keep my eyes open.”
Gonda glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Twenty days ago, our village was attacked and destroyed by Mountain warriors. They stole several of our children. Koracoo and I went after them. In the process, we had occasion to stop at a Hills People village, Atotarho Village—”
“Why would you stop there? Atotarho is an evil old sorcerer, and he hates all
Similar Books
