Grumbling and frustrated anew, Harkon found a place among the branches to eat dried meat from her hunter’s pack, drink from her waterskin, to sleep if she could and to think.
In time, the heat of her anger burned away to leave her hard and ready, anticipating the night to come. Many Bakwaniri would die—finally—and she hoped the people who remained of her tribe would be freed.
But most of all she hoped her son still lived.
And if the worst had happened and Anim was gone, then woe betide her enemies this night.
The huntress spent the day until sunset awaiting the ape-man: at one time deep in thought, at another preparing her weapons, or napping and resting her leg. The swelling had gone down in her ankle, but the knee was still tender and tight.
Though she could fight and kill through the discomfort.
She had collected many arrows in the lead up to this battle, and she had her spear and long knife, too. The bow would be useful against so many for it allowed her to kill by stealth and at a distance, yet she longed to use her other weapons when finally face to face.
Gazda returned at sunset smelling of blood, but looking well-rested and strong. A fresh coat of mud lay over him, and upon this he had drawn many skulls.
With piercing eyes he surveyed the Bakwaniri village as his long fangs gleamed in a fierce smile. The ape-man pushed the long hair back from his face to bind with a strip of coarse hide.
Drums had been echoing in the village for hours, and already the fire was lit for the feast.
Harkon had watched the populace as she awaited the night and Gazda’s return, and while the people had seemed dull-witted and tired crawling from their huts near noon, repeated trips to gawk at the severed head had raised their spirits.
By the time the sun was sinking near day’s end, great wooden barrels and pots that sloshed with drink had been set out, and loads of wood had been placed in readiness while large bowls of vegetables and fruits were left about the open space. Soon amidst much drinking and singing, a dance began that drew the population in a winding circle from the fire to the ape’s head and back.
Harkon’s own people had imbibed a fermented drink and she understood its effects upon the mind, so the huntress would gauge the population’s drunkenness and recommend to Gazda the best time for attack.
They discussed their plan of action, and went over it many times.
Gazda would provide a distraction, and Harkon would slip over the wall to open the gate before freeing the prisoners. The ape-man would use his hunting skills and speed to keep the bone-faces busy while Harkon led the others to escape.
Both hunter and huntress would kill any Bakwaniri they could find.
The timing would be perilous, Harkon knew, for any unexpected turn could doom those prisoners that the Bakwaniri had put in the great cage by the cooking fire.
As the sky grew darker, Gazda became more excited and he left for a time to choose the best place to attack. He knew the moon would be full, and the deep shadows it cast could be his allies.
Meanwhile, the cooking fires were roaring as slaves and masked men fed the flames dried wood. The revelers tired of their dance and gathered closer to where the food would be prepared.
Though they never seemed to tire of their drink, or become incapacitated by the sheer volume they consumed.
Gazda returned to Harkon hooting worriedly, and slashing the air with his fangs, but as he barked his warning a horn blared at the gate.
From out of the shadowed stream there moved a large force of Bakwaniri, and with them were more prisoners like those the ape-man wished to free.
Growling fiercely, Gazda gripped the branches to which he clung and one splintered from the strain.
The huntress saw that the Bakwaniri force had used the new captives harshly. They were slick with sweat from travel like their captors, but those that were afoot staggered unsteadily in place, exhausted beyond all bounds; while others had been carried strung beneath long poles: an old white man and two women.
A man of middle age and a younger were visible standing, and another woman the pair supported swayed between.
“Ginny!” Gazda whispered, watching the prisoners as his lips pulled away from his fangs. “Lilly!”
The huntress reached for him to make a calming gesture, saying: “You be patient now!”
She knew their plan would work to kill Bakwaniri regardless of their number, though victory was unlikely against the large force combined with the fighters in the village.
And escape would not be likely in the jungle that waited.
Yet the Bakwaniri homecoming might aid in the distraction, and she knew that the most exhausted of the hunters might have strength left to fight but none to follow.
The huntress sat on the branch beside the ape-man as Gazda quietly barked and growled at the scene below. They watched as the Bakwaniri hunters were welcomed home with drink and dance and as the new captives were taken to the cage by the fire and imprisoned with the others.
The huntress smiled as looking to her, Gazda did the same.
It was time to attack.
CHAPTER 33 – When She Rises
Captain Seward was saddened to see the group of masked savages driving the other castaways toward the cage by the fire to which he and Jacob had been led the night before.
At that time, they had expected the worst and were ready for a final fight, but those fears had begun to diminish as they crossed the compound for it was apparent that the remaining savages were drunk and reeling, and more interested in sleep than eating.
The following day in the cage with only a pair of despairing old slaves as company had left the ranger and Jacob struggling to generate any optimism. In lieu of tequila, Seward needed
