Kavio
With Zumo close behind him, Kavio met his new fighters at dawn on the open plain by the river.
The men had arrived before sunrise. They bathed in the river and painted their bodies with war symbols. Kavio wore no paint and no Zavaedi costume—only simple legwals and a leather strap across his chest to hold his quiver, dagger, and sling.
His thoughts were already busy with plans. He was thinking about how to rebuild Yellow Bear's army. Many ideas spun in his mind like petals on a windwheel.
All his life, he had watched his father train and lead the warriors of the Rainbow Labyrinth. Now it was his turn. He felt like a boy who had been given a new toy. At the same time, something about the men didn't feel right—though he couldn't yet say what.
He glanced at Zumo, who had followed him down to the kraal and now stood beside him with arms crossed.
Zumo, unlike Kavio, wore his full Zavaedi outfit, including a tall headdress made of feathers and otter fur. He looked at the men around the kraal with a sneer.
"Not much to fear from this bunch."
Kavio had to admit he wasn't wrong. Except for the Bear Shields, most of the men were sloppy. Some were fat. Others looked half asleep. A few smelled of drink. They stood in loose groups, arranged by clan and age. The war paint on their bare chests showed which clan and tribe they belonged to.
Most of them were at least seven years older than Kavio. Their cold, doubtful stares felt familiar. People had always questioned him. He rolled his shoulders back and smiled slightly. He liked a challenge.
"Let's get started," he said to the men.
He walked through the middle of the group, dragging the butt of his spear in the dirt. The line it left split the group into two sides.
"Two teams," he said. "One on each side of the line. Let's see what you've got. Fight."
"Vultho invited me for corn beer and fishing," Zumo said. "That's a better way to spend a sunny morning." Vultho was kin to Hertio, and was supposed to be training under Kavio. "Have fun trying to make eagles out of chickens. You'll never be your father."
"Enjoy your beer, Zumo. You're already turning into your father."
Zumo's nostrils flared. He stomped off.
Kavio turned back to the fight.
He watched closely. Which men jumped into action? Which ones stood blinking, slow to understand? Who helped their teammates, and who only chased glory for themselves? Who looked to Kavio for guidance, and who looked at him with hate?
He let the fight go on long enough to judge each man. Then he struck the ground with his spear.
"Stop."
He didn't hide his disgust. In truth, they weren't as bad as they looked—but they weren't good either.
"You fight like hens," he said. "Running around, pecking, no plan, no goal. That's going to change."
The men grumbled like bees after someone kicked the hive.
Kavio gave new orders to each war group. He told one side to form into the Arrow Formation, a sharp V shape made of tapered rows. Then he told them to fight again.
This time, the group in the Arrow Formation pushed through the others like a spear. They won easily.
The winners cheered. The losers looked unhappy, but thoughtful.
The rest of the morning passed well enough. But Kavio still felt that something was wrong. Finally, he realized what it was.
Some men were missing.
He could guess where a few had gone—like Vultho, who was probably sleeping off his beer—but what about the others?
At midday, Kavio asked Hertio.
The answer he got made his stomach twist.
No men from Rainbow Labyrinth—not even recognized Tavaedies—were allowed to fight with Yellow Bear warriors.
"You made a man of Rainbow Labyrinth blood your war leader," Kavio said. "But you won't let his kin hold spears beside him?"
Hertio didn't reply at once. He finished licking the last bit of grease from a roasted pigeon wing. The fat glistened on his lips.
"They can go back to their own tribe," he said at last. "You can't."
The answer left a bitter taste in Kavio's mouth.