The People of the Black Sun by W. Michael Gear

replied in a firm voice.
    The breeze tousled his hood around his face. “I remember the loathsome tone in your former husband’s voice when he used to call you a Peacemaker. It still turns my blood cold.”
    â€œWell, Gonda has changed.”
    â€œHaven’t we all?” Sindak frowned at the dancers. As the firelight fluttered in the wind, it cast the shadow of his beaked nose across his cheek. “If we were traitors why would we have volunteered to stay and help protect your villages? That doesn’t make any sense.”
    â€œIt does if Atotarho specifically instructed you to turn against us during the next battle.”
    â€œOh,” he breathed, “now I understand. We are to commit suicide for our chief while killing as many of you as we can?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. It would help if you told me what you expect to get out of this arrangement, Sindak. Why are you here?” To leaven the tension a little, she asked, “You’re not still smitten with me, are you?”
    His lips quirked. “That was a long time ago, but I have never been ‘smitten’ with you. It was undying love. I was a silly youth.”
    She chuckled.
    His head dropped forward until his chin rested on his chest. He had a thoughtful expression. “What do I expect to get? I haven’t thought that far ahead. And I’m exhausted. Perhaps we should discuss this later in the morning, after we’ve both had a chance to—”
    â€œNo, now. Tell me what you hope to gain?”
    He lifted his head, and his jaw went hard in annoyance. She could see his teeth grinding. “You remember that I’m a Hills warrior, correct? Maybe you should explain your perspective on the command structure here. Do you think I take orders from you?”
    â€œYou’d better.”
    He actually laughed, and they smiled at each other. “All right. Let me try to force my foggy souls to think.” He paused for a long while, before saying, “First, I want Atotarho dead, and the People of the Hills reunited with Zateri as High Matron of all our people. Next, I want peace throughout the land, as you do. Beyond those things, I have no idea.” He shoved away from the palisade. “And now, I am off to find my blanket.” He strode down the catwalk.
    She called, “Tell me one last thing?”
    He turned. “What?”
    â€œWhere is Atotarho? Why don’t we see his campfires out there? Our scouts haven’t returned.”
    Firelight reflected in his dark eyes. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. My guess is that he’s on the trail.”
    â€œHeaded where?”
    â€œIf I knew that, Matron, my stomach would finally sink to its proper place.”
    â€œGet some sleep, Sindak.”
    He started to walk away, then stopped short, and turned back to give her an amused look. “With regard to your earlier question about my being ‘smitten.’ Just so you know, a part of me will always be in love with you. That’s your penance for being such a great war chief. Silly young warriors become obsessed.”
    She laughed softly, and he gave her a sweeping bow, then continued toward the ladder.

 

    Six
    Elder Brother Sun had not yet crested the eastern horizon, but already the bellies of the drifting Cloud People shimmered, and a pale lavender glow lit the forest. As the leafless maple branches swayed in the morning breeze, soft rustling filled the air.
    War Chief Baji of Wild River Village rose from where she’d been rolling up her blanket and stretched her aching back muscles. The battle yesterday had been fierce. As she turned left to examine the battlefield that lay between her camp and the partly burned villages of the Standing Stone People, her gaze lingered upon the dead. Strange things happened to corpses as they froze. Yesterday afternoon most of the bodies had been lying flat. This morning, misshapen arms with clawlike