The long night stretched on and on, layered clouds piling overhead, with no lamplight and neither stars nor moon in sight. The Mixtec raids began north of the riverbank, then sprang up again west of the camp. Wave after wave of killing unfolded in the dark. First came the hiss of arrows through the wind, then the sound of running feet, then the shouts of combat, the wails of the wounded, the groans of the dying, and the splash of struggling bodies falling into the water.
Chiwako and Puapu boarded the longboat, staring into the indistinct distance and listening to the sounds drifting on the wind. The two of them tightened their grips on their weapons, gathered the expedition members close, and waited patiently aboard the boat. In night fighting like this, having more people was not necessarily a good thing.
"Mm. Looks like the other side doesn't have many men."
Chiwako raised a hand and cupped it behind his ear, frowning as he listened for a long while.
"As long as the camp onshore doesn't fall into chaos, a night raid like this won't cause many casualties."
"Kill! The Rain God protects us!"
"Ah! Supreme Cloud Snake!"
The words had barely fallen when a burst of urgent battle cries suddenly erupted beside the camp of the Tlaxcalan captives. Then, in less than half a quarter of an hour, the scattered, rapid shouts of killing turned into waves of panicked cries.
The Tlaxcalan able-bodied men waved their stone spears wildly, running in confusion between darkness and campfires, even crashing into one another. Then the miserable howls of the wounded rang out one after another, high and low, like the cries of wounded, despairing wild deer, carrying all the way onto the river.
". . . The able-bodied men's camp is