Red bone's Arc

Chapter 1 of 12

Red bone had killed men bigger than any chieftain. But he had never guessed wrong about which chieftain to challenge first. Tonight that guess would decide if he lived long enough to take the throne of the warring clans. Six chieftains ruled the frozen camps. He meant to beat each one in single combat and rule them all. The weakest had to fall first. Pick wrong, and some giant with a war axe would open his skull before the real fight began. He crouched at the edge of the firelight and watched the camp. His red hair hung heavy with frost. His two axes lay across his knees. Beside him, a white dog pressed warm against his leg, ears sharp toward the noise of drinking men. The trouble was simple. Every chieftain looked strong. They all wore scars like medals. He could not tell boast from truth by watching alone. Footsteps crunched behind him. Red bone spun, axe up. "Put it down," Berry said. "You'd miss anyway." Berry was his brother, a war chief himself, though the two had fought on the same side longer than they'd fought each other. He had a black beard braided tight and red paint streaked across his face. He dropped into the snow like he owned it. "You know these men," Red bone said. "Which one is weakest?" Berry laughed, low and mean. "You still think strong and weak are about arms." He pointed with his chin toward the fires. "Watch who drinks tonight. A chief sure of his men sleeps. A chief afraid of them stays up counting them." Red bone watched. Five fires burned steady. At the sixth, a thick-shouldered chieftain paced among his warriors, slapping backs, laughing too loud. He kept touching the axe at his belt. His men watched him back, hands near their own blades. "That one," Red bone said. "He fears his own people." "Fear makes a man quick to fight and quick to tire," Berry said. "Challenge him. His warriors won't mourn." Red bone stood. The white dog rose with him. He walked into the firelight before his nerve could cool. "Chieftain," he called. "I name you first. One fight. Your head or mine." The camp went still. The thick-shouldered chief turned, eyes wide, then grinned to hide the fear. He drew his axe. Red bone read the grip and knew Berry was right. This man held his weapon like a shield, not a tool. They circled once. The chief swung wild. Red bone stepped inside the blow and buried an axe in his chest. The man dropped. Snow drank the blood. Silence. Then the dead chief's warriors stared at Red bone. Not with grief. With hunger. Berry stepped up beside him, smiling wide. "You won your first," Berry said. "Now his men are yours to feed and lead. And five chieftains just learned your name." Red bone wiped his axe. The easy fight was over. The hard ones had only started.