Copper Falcon Read Free

Woodpecker, and the other spirits of war.
    As we stepped onto the veranda, we passed between two carved wooden doors and entered what had to be the most opulent room in the world. The walls were covered with carved reliefs and hung with blankets and war trophies. The uprights for the wall benches were topped with carvings of faces, animals, and spirit beasts. A single large woven-reed mat covered the entire floor. Flames leaped from the central fire, lazy curls of smoke rising toward the high roof. A carving of the four curling spirals of the Four Winds Clan dominated the back wall. Beneath the wall benches I could see stored pots, intricately carved wooden boxes, and folded blankets.
    Father marched us forward to stop just short of the crackling fire. At his call, we grounded our shields, dropped to one knee, and touched our foreheads.
    I stared past my beaded forelock to see High Chief Green Chunkey, a man in his fifties with blocky features, tattoos of serpents fading on his cheeks. The forked-eye design of the Sky World blackened his face around each eye. A stunning cape made of tanned rattlesnake skins hung from his shoulders, and he’d tied a white triangular apron at his waist.
    Green Chunkey sat on a raised dais covered with panther hide. Seven of his nobles and a woman I took to be one of his wives clustered behind him. They, too, were immaculately dressed, some sporting feather splays on their shoulders. A few had stunning feathered capes hung over their backs. Others wore sleek-furred bearhide. Fine textile aprons graced their waists. They stared at us with curious if dismissive eyes.
    Green Chunkey said in a soft voice, “When I awoke this morning the last thing I would have expected was Red Mask’s arrival. Greetings, Cousin.”
    “It’s been a long time,” Father replied, rising. “You are looking well. If a bit fat and soft. Do women these days prefer poking fingers into that chubby belly rather than running them along rippled muscle?”
    Everyone but Green Chunkey stiffened, eyes widening as they stared incredulously, first at Father, and then at the high chief.
    I tensed, as did our warriors; we tightened our grips on our war clubs and shields.
    Green Chunkey let the silence linger just long enough to become even more uncomfortable, then laughed and slapped his thick thigh. “Still living dangerously, eh, Cousin?”
    “The frontier tolerates nothing less, High Chief.” Father gave him an impish grin and spread muscular arms. “Which is why I have come. I need warriors, old friend. For an entire generation we’ve pushed the T’so barbarians back into the hills, taken their land, captured them, made them build our walls and palaces … farm our fields.”
    “What’s changed?”
    “Something in the south. The Sky Hand People. They have begun pushing north with their Albaamaha allies, driving the T’so before them … sending them flooding down on us. We can kill three for every warrior we lose in a stand-up fight, but when we are outnumbered ten to one? Or worse, when they sneak in close, hit us by surprise? It has turned into a war of attrition, and no matter how brave we may be, or how well we fight, in the end, they
will
wear us away.”
    Green Chunkey fingered his blunt chin, eyes thoughtful. “You know what will happen if the Morning Star learns of your arrival? It could mean death in the square.”
    I shot a look of dismay my father’s direction. What? Death?
    “And then there’s the Keeper. If she discovers you here …?” He paused. “Or did you just want your grandfather’s copper falcon back?”
    Copper falcon?
I glanced sidelong at father.
    Father laughed bitterly. “Nothing like picking a scab off an old wound, is there?”
    What old wound?
    “It’s your life you’re gambling. If asked, I’ll deny any dealings with you beyond kin obligations.”
    “I know the risks, High Chief. I could have sent a messenger asking for a squadron, but what would that have accomplished? One