Deep night covered every trace of blood. After the cruel culling by lots, only fifteen thousand captives from Coyote City remained. Every potential source of resistance had been utterly bled dry in three indiscriminate cullings and two rounds of mutual betrayal and denunciation. The captives' will had collapsed with it, and they no longer had the courage to resist, like tamed turkeys.
Now, piles of bonfires were lit. The surviving captives' faces were filled with fear and distrust as they curled up and lay in the middle of the camps guarded by the warriors of each division. They had nothing to eat. No one spoke to anyone else. They were as quiet as the dead.
"Mm, looking at this, they're about trained enough. Starve them for a night, set out tomorrow, and no one should dare run. Even if they do, they won't have the strength. Then one meal a day, a few mouthfuls of mixed grain each meal. As long as they don't starve to death, that's enough. They should last until Cone House City!"
Cooking smoke rose, and the air drifted with the thick reek of blood and the faint clean fragrance of grain. Black Wolf Toltec sat before the bonfire, softened a tortilla over the flames, and finished it in a few bites. Then he clapped his hands, stood, took another tortilla, and walked toward a nearby fire.
Not far away was a group of silent, deathly still Totonac warriors. Most of their eyes were red; some bore tear tracks, some carried a fierce look, and more were numb. Linlang Mayakun sat before the bonfire, surrounded by several personal guards from the Coyote tribe. None of them spoke. They only roasted pumpkin and mixed grain, swallowed in great mouthfuls, their eyes fierce as wolves.
"Not bad! After