Keyoke surveyed the rest of his defences, his plumed head held high despite the arrows arcing overhead. Most shafts bounced off the sheer walls of the canyon, but a few sped downward. One struck a handspan from Keyoke, but he barely noticed. As if the quivering shaft by his foot had no existence, he motioned for servants to carry water to his righting men. Then he surveyed his command yet again.
The Minwanabi seemed frantic to engage the Acoma. Why? Keyoke considered. If the canyon was defensible, it was also a trap. The Minwanabi would pay dearly to enter, but the Acoma would die attempting to leave. An attacker not pressed to haste would be better to sit and wait, holding the canyon until starvation forced the defenders to desperation, then let Acoma bodies be the ones piling up at the base of the barricade as hunger drove them to escape. Keyoke reviewed what he knew of his opponent: Irrilandi was in no way stupid - he’d been competent enough to remain the Minwanabi Force Commander for nearly two decades -and in this foray he was almost certain to be operating under battle orders from Tasaio. Why should two men so skilled in war spend men by the hundreds? To capture the silk would be no mortal blow to the Acoma and certainly not worth the lives that would be sacrificed before the sun reached mid-heaven. Time must be a factor, but why?
Disturbed, Keyoke turned away from unanswerable questions and selected soldiers for the next rotation. Before each warrior took his turn behind the barricade, Keyoke inspected weapons and armour, and briefly placed a hand upon each lacquered shoulder guard. He spoke quiet words of encouragement, then sent the relief forward. There they waited, until a weary Acoma warrior would step back and his replacement move forward, the change taking only a moment.
Keyoke assessed the blood-spattered soldiers who removed their helmets and washed sweat-soaked hair and faces in the creek. He decided to step up the rotation. The Minwanabi were still able to send only four men at a time against the barricade, and the spearmen had held off any further attempts to destroy the fortification of tangled branches and rocks. Better to keep the men as fresh as possible, Keyoke judged.
A sudden shout arose from behind Minwanabi lines. Uncertain what this might signify, Keyoke signalled every man in the canyon to stand ready. Strike Leader Dakhati hastened to his Force Commander’s side, sword pointed at the barricade. But no foray came against the defenders. Rather than choke the defile with more soldiers, the Minwanabi unexpectedly withdrew.
Dakhati expelled a pent breath. ‘Perhaps they tired of seeing their men die for naught.’
Keyoke shrugged, noncommittal. Retreat was not Irrilandi’s style, and certainly not Tasaio’s. ‘Perhaps,’ he conceded. ‘But our enemies were willing enough to waste lives until this moment.’
On the verge of speaking, Dakhati fell abruptly still as an object was launched into the air from a point beyond the canyon’s rim. Dark against the daylight sky, it came flying into the gully, a bundle of soaked rags and knots. It struck the hard dirt and rolled, servants scattering from its path in case it contained a nest of stinging insects – an old siege trick – or something equally unpleasant. Keyoke signalled and Dakhati moved to investigate. The Strike Leader lifted the bundle and unwrapped it. When he pulled away the last turn of cloth, his lips tightened and his face blanched grey beneath his tan.
As Dakhati glanced up, Keyoke nodded almost imperceptibly. His Strike Leader covered the bundle in response, it’s Wiallo’s head,’ he murmured softly.
‘I thought so.’ Keyoke’s voice betrayed no hint that he shared the same hopeless, helpless rage. Mara, he thought, you and Ayaki are in grave danger and I can do nothing to help.
Equally mindful of the threat to the Acoma household, Dakhati added more. ‘They included a bit of rope, so we might know they hanged him before they cut his head off.’
Keyoke repressed a flinch at the mention of an honourless end. ‘Wiallo told them he was a deserter, no doubt. He may have been hanged, but he died with courage. I’ll attest to that before the Red God himself.’
Dakhati nodded grimly. ‘Your orders, Force Commander?’
Keyoke did not answer immediately. He was pained beyond measure by the fate of his messenger to Mara; the canyon was sealed, irrevocably. Now no one could win free to warn her of the spy unnoticed in her house. His bitterness came near to showing as he said, ‘Only to stand ready and kill as many Minwanabi as possible. And to die like men of the Acoma.’
Dakhati saluted and returned to the barricade.