Crouching, the Outcast kept running. He raced out of the spruce and crouched in some brush, unscathed and wondering why. He had expected more arrows to fly. That none did suggested the warrior had used all the shafts in his quiver or had only a few left and wouldn’t use another unless he was sure he wouldn’t miss.
Staying low, the Outcast stalked toward the spot where he had last seen his enemy. Movement alerted him that the warrior was doing the same. He sank onto his stomach, the club at his side.
A cluster of dogwood moved.
But there was still no wind.
The Outcast gripped the hardwood handle with both hands. He coiled his legs, and when a dark form materialized low to the earth, he sprang. He vaulted high into the air with the club overhead. His adversary sensed him and looked up.
The club fell in an arc.
The warrior brought up his bow. Wood clacked on wood. The Outcast dodged a kick aimed at his knee. He avoided a thrust of the bow aimed at his eyes.
Snarling, the warrior heaved to his knees and grabbed for a long knife at his hip. The blade flashed, down low.
The Outcast sidestepped. He feinted to the left and stepped to the right and swung with all his might. Glinting in the sunlight, the metal spike buried itself in the warrior’s eye. The spike was long enough and thick enough that it shattered the socket and penetrated to the brain.
The warrior pinwheeled his arms and kicked like a stricken frog, and went limp.
The Outcast wrenched the spike out. Gore and blood dripped from the metal. He shook it, then faced up the mountain.
There was more yet to do.
The Beginning
Night was about to fall.
Skin Shredder did not want to stop. His intent was to make it over the pass. But at a spring just above the tree line he called for a halt. Splashes Blood got a fire going while Eye Gouger and Red Moon went into the woods to gather enough firewood to last them the night. It was chill this high up once the sun went down, even in the summer. Head Splitter watched the horse and the captives.
His hands clasped behind his back, Skin Shredder paced. He didn’t look up when someone began pacing beside him.
“You are worried about Star Dancer?” Splashes Blood asked.
“He should have rejoined us.”
“I will take Red Moon and go look for him. If he has been slain we will avenge him.”
“It would please me better if you stayed.” Skin Shredder refused to risk losing more warriors. Two was bad enough; two was a calamity. His people would say he was bad medicine and shun him.
“He is our friend.”
“One of the best we have,” Skin Shredder conceded. “If he has been killed, I will want vengeance, too. But we have the two captives and the horse to think of. It is important we get them to our village.”
Zach King saw their leader glare at him and wondered why. He had been dumped to the ground near the bay. His wrists and ankles were bound and his moccasins had been pulled off so if he ran, he would lacerate his feet to ribbons on the sharp rocks.
Lou stared at the dry blood on his thigh. “How are you holding up?”
“I keep telling you, I’m fine. They took the arrow out, didn’t they?” Zach wasn’t being completely honest. His leg hurt abominably, and he was burning with fever. The wound didn’t appear to be infected, but he needed to clean and bandage it.
“They
“Something is bothering them. The one who went down the mountain hasn’t come back.”
“Maybe it’s Shakespeare,” Lou said hopefully.
Skin Shredder walked over and kicked her. ‘Be silent,’ he signed. No matter how many times he told them, they kept on talking when his back was turned.
Zach surged up off the ground in anger, but he made it only as far his knees when Skin Shredder knocked him back down.
“I’m all right,” Lou said. “Don’t get them mad.”
Skin Shredder turned to Head Splitter. “The next time either speaks, hit them with a rock.”
“Hit to kill or to hurt?”
“We do not cut hearts from dead captives.” Skin Shredder went to the fire. He was restless and irritable, and disliked being either. A warrior should have more self-control.
Splashes Blood held up a bundle of pemmican. “We found this in the breed’s parfleche.”
Skin Shredder took a piece. The others were already eating. “Give some to Head Splitter.”
Grunting, Splashes Blood started to stand, and stopped. “Why is he standing that way?”
Head Splitter was leaning against the horse. His head lolled and his legs were wobbling. Suddenly the bay nickered and took a step, and Head Splitter oozed to the grass and lay on his side. The firelight played over the arrow that had transfixed him from back to front.
The Tunkua sprang to their feet and moved toward him.
Exactly as the Outcast wanted them to do. By then he was behind them, the club in his hands. He could have killed more with the bow, but there were only four now—and he had seen their leader kick the young woman. He swung, and the metal spike buried itself in the nearest warrior’s skull. The warrior stiffened but didn’t cry out, and in a heartbeat the Outcast had tugged the spike out and was behind the next. This one he caught on the side of the head. The spike went in the ear and the warrior bleated and died.
The other two whirled.
The Outcast tried to jerk the spike out, but it was lodged fast in the bone. Letting go of the handle, he drew his knife and his tomahawk.
The two warriors drew their blades. The leader barked something and both attacked at once.
His arms a blur, the Outcast slashed, countered, stabbed. They pressed him hard. They were skilled, these two, but so was he. Blade rang on blade and knife rang on tomahawk. The leader cut his arm. The other sliced his side but not deep. He swept the tomahawk around and up and the keen edge sank into the other’s throat, splitting the soft flesh and sending a scarlet spray every which way. That left the leader.
Skin Shredder saw Splashes Blood fall, and bounded back. He knew that alone he was no match for this warrior who had come out of nowhere and slain his friends with fierce ease, and as he saw no reason to needlessly throw his life away, he threw his knife, instead, at the warrior’s face.
The Outcast ducked. The knife flew over his head, and he straightened to find the leader fleeing up the mountain with the agility and speed of a mountain sheep. He started to give chase but caught himself. To rush into the dark after an enemy who might be waiting for him was foolish. There would be another day. He turned toward the young woman.
“No!” Zach struggled to get between them.
The Outcast walked over to her. He avoided an attempt by the breed to kick him. He looked into her eyes and she looked into his. He saw no fear, not until she glanced at her husband, who was trying to reach him to kick at him again. The Outcast lowered his knife and cut the rope around her wrist and then the rope around her ankles. He sheathed his knife and reached down.
“Don’t hurt her, damn you!” Zach shouted.
The Outcast thought she would recoil but she was unafraid. Pressing his hand to her stomach, he said softly, “Do you understand?”
Lou glanced down at herself. His words held no meaning but his gesture spoke volumes. She placed her hand
