With him, however, astride a huge black stallion, was a figure even more imposing and out of place. She was very tall, taller than the Crow, who was no little man, and her skin was as black as the blackest night. Her hair, straight and cut very short, was blacker than her skin, and her features were as perfect as finely chiseled black marble. Her clothing, tailored to her statuesque proportions, consisted of a sleeveless tunic made of beaver and mink with pants and even boots to match. Her arms looked smooth, but when they moved, tremendous muscles and great power were evident. Her eyes were cold, her bearing aloof.

None needed to be told that these were very dangerous people. Here was a Crow Agency man, one of those who worked for Council security, and with him a visitor from a far place who unquestionably held the same sort of job in some distant land.

They rode right up to the tribal council meeting and halted but did not dismount. The Crow Agency man gave them a look that seemed to chill them all, as if he felt in the mood to massacre an entire tribe. The lady, on the other hand, gave the impression that she'd rather slowly torture them first.

Black Bear Foot decided he really didn't need this kind of trouble, but he sighed and got up. If his father didn't come back, this would determine whether he survived to take over. He, too, had a lot of younger half brothers who wouldn't mind the job in the least.

"I am Black Bear Foot, acting chief of this tribe until the return of my father," he said in his native tongue. He didn't care if they understood it or not: That was their problem. In fact, he kind of hoped that they didn't share any common languages. Maybe then they'd give up and go away. "If you come in peace and friendship, you are welcome to share our fire and our hospitality,"

the acting chief added grudgingly.

"Where's your father, sonny boy?" the Crow asked in a voice that was deep, raspy, and all-around unpleasant. He spoke excellent Illinois. Black Bear Foot thought the man sounded as a corpse might sound if it could speak.

"You have no call to break the Covenant," the young, would-be chief responded, deciding that only bravado meant anything to this pair. "If I were to speak that way to someone of my position in the land of the Crow, your people would have my skin stretched across poles. You may have my life and surrender yours, but I will have respect in my own village and among my own people from any visitor."

The speech seemed to impress and also disturb the Crow.

"You know we act in the name of the Council," the Crow Agency man said menacingly, but the mere fact that he said it showed some hesitancy. He obviously was not used to having someone stand up to him on anything, except perhaps her.

"You mean you are in the employ of Council. The way you act and treat those who would offer you hospitality is not the Council way or the way of the Covenant.

You may act in the name of the Council, but I doubt if the Council would approve of the way you act."

The Crow smiled, although the expression looked grotesque and unnatural on him.

The black woman remained impassive.

"You're right," the Crow admitted. There were almost audible sighs of relief from the crowd. "These are extraordinary circumstances, son, and our mission takes precedence over everything else, even the Covenant, but it doesn't excuse improper manners. You couldn't manage my name in your language, so just call me Raven. Everybody does. The lady also has an untranslatable name, but the sounds are there. She is called Manka Warlock, and she is in the Caribe what I am in the western mountains. Her mere presence here should show you that this is something very important."

It did. The Caribe and their tropical islands were placed in the South American District and did not work for council at all or have authority here even from on high. That, Black Bear Foot suspected, was why the Crow was here: He, too, was out of his normal region, but a Council man was a Council man no matter what his tribe and nation.

"We are looking for a man. Late thirties, Hyiakutt but a linguist and a Council worker on Leave. He might be traveling with a Hyiakutt woman, medium, good build, early thirties. I know what this place is and what it does. They got past us up north; I doubt if they got past you."

The young man sighed. "They were here. They-picked up supplies and went on this morning down the river."

The Crow Agency man gave the acting chief a hard look. "Probably about three in the morning with your father as hostage from the looks of things. Don't worry. I really don't know those whom we seek, but this village and your father have a reputation that reaches to the upper end of the Missouri. That, and I see the two bodies back there."

"My father and some of those he trusted were careless," the young man told him, deciding to tell the truth. "The strangers did not seem dangerous. Their canoe was swamped. They were brought in naked and carrying nothing."

"Uh huh. Only helpless. So they got you good, took the chief, and you're all here in a prayer meeting praying to the Great Spirit that they don't send him back. That about it?"

"No. Even now those responsible are being dispatched to chase them down the river, while runners prepare to notify our allies. I mean to have their hides and my father back alive."

Raven turned to the woman and spoke in a strange language. "They were here, naked. Lost everything when the canoe went over, probably from that hypno shield. They fought their way out and snatched the chief early this morning. I figure five, maybe six hours tops. What do you think?"

"I think we had better go on the river," she responded without changing her gaze. "We will never catch them this way, and we would need to be ferried from this point as it is. I think we underestimated our little historian and his native wench, but they have nothing, you say."

"Nothing tangible, but he wouldn't be running so hard and so bloody if he hadn't read 'em all through. He knows what those papers said. He's the only one in the whole area who could read 'em, and he finds 'em. The hell with the papers. He's the papers now."

She nodded. "Very well. He is on the run from Council and from these people. He will not be moving fast but cautiously."

The Crow switched back to Illinois. "Do you know where he is trying to go?"

"My father said he was trying to reach Nawlins. He is in trouble and needs an ally in Council."

Raven thought a moment. "Mud Runner! Got to be!" he said in the black woman's Caribe English.

"Who is this Mud Runner person?"

"Resident Agent. Probably an old pal. He's set up in the swamps south of Nawlins."

She nodded again. "Good. That means that he must keep to the river. It is a very long way to Nawlins from here, even longer when you must guard against your own shadow. We will proceed by water."

"Yeah, but these slobs couldn't catch their own dinner with a net, and we're both on unfamiliar ground. We'll go right past him."

"Perhaps," she said. "If so, it will only delay things. We know where he is going."

"Yeah. And if they sic a Val on him, what then?"

"If these pirates had killed him, what then? We can only do the possible and play the odds. From the looks of things here, he might make it, even with a Val on his tail. The Val can't play the percentages. It must check every little piece of river for him, although it, too, will head for this Mud Runner in the end. We must be certain that we get to them first."

"You ever think this could put a Val on our tails? Whatever this is, it's big.

Big enough for a guy to throw it all away and go wild. Big enough to send a Val in the first place, and maybe all of 'em."

"You have always bragged that you could take a Val. If they put one or two on us, then you will get the opportunity to test your theories. Come. We must not remain here long."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Even if these are our kind of people."

Chief Roaring Bull knew his section of the river like the old hand he was, and he knew balances, shifts, and other ways to manage an overloaded canoe through occasional rough water and tiny whirlpools. They learned a great deal from him and crossed the area where the mighty Missouri dumped into the Mississippi with no more than minor incidents. Hawks kept him aboard for extra safety, but the man was quickly passing from an asset to a liability.

Twice they had been hailed from shore or intercepted by canoe, and twice the old chief had done himself proud talking them out of any potential dangers. It wasn't that the strangers weren't suspicious; Hawks had the distinct impression that the four warriors in the canoe knew or at least suspected exactly what was going on. But the barely suppressed snickers on their faces showed that they only took bribes from Roaring Bull; they really didn't like him any more than anyone else did, and in the absence of a general alarm or big reward, they really weren't that upset to see the old boy embarrassed and compromised.

Besides, they could always claim later that they weren't really sure and that the chief had had ample opportunities to cause his captors trouble, yet had not.

They passed the site south of the confluence of the rivers where once, Hawks knew, a mighty complex of cities had stood. Nothing was there now; the forests on both sides looked virgin and ancient, and even the foundations of ancient bridges had long ago succumbed to the power of the river.

"It is now time to bid you farewell," he told the old chief. "Stand up and do not topple the canoe."

"Stand up? But you said you would let me off when we passed the Missouri!"

"1 intend to keep my word. You may leave now."

The old man looked around. "But we are in the middle of the river!"

"I did not promise any more than this. You can swim. Sooner or later you will make it to shore just by floating and letting the river carry you. By then we will be long gone."

The old chief glared at him. "A curse on you all, then! I might never know who got you or why, but I look at three of the walking dead here. Sooner or later, perhaps in hours or days, you will encounter someone whom you cannot take.

Then it will be over."

"Jump, fat man. That is our problem."

With a last angry glance, the old chief jumped into the river and was soon left far behind.

With his weight gone, the canoe became far more manageable and almost enjoyable to use. Little effort was required except to steer away from snags and keep within the current.

"Where do we go now, my fierce warrior?" Cloud Dancer asked.

"Keep an eye out for men digging on a bluff to our right. It might be any time but will probably not be for some hours. I overheard the traders at the village say that there was a team from Council doing some digging along here, and I want to find them."

"Digging? What sort of digging?"

"They are finding the remains of nations that were here not only before us but before the ones who were here after our ancestors. They will have certain things that we need."

She turned and looked at him. "Remains? They are grave robbers?"

"When things get ancient enough, it is no longer grave robbing but a way to learn how ancient people lived, worked, and thought. It is why we know so much about our own ancestors."

She considered that. "Grave robbers. A fancy name they might have for it, but it is disturbing sacred dead."

He shrugged. If she wanted to think of them as grave robbers, that was fine with him. Of course, archaeologists were grave robbers, anyway; it was the motive, not the act, that was the only difference.

"What will these Council grave robbers have that we could use?" she asked him.

"They will look as if they are of the People, but they will not be. Probably mostly students and apprentices with only a couple of experienced elders. Still, somewhere close and probably hidden from view they will have some of the machines of Council. They will also have supplies and will be unable to do as much to us for getting them as even Roaring Bull was."

"You mean we are going to rob them?"

He grinned. "Why should it bother you to rob from grave robbers?"

That seemed to satisfy her sense of morality. The big problem was in convincing Silent Woman that no one was to be killed in this or even badly hurt if it could be at all avoided. He needed supplies and things he could trade downriver, but he wouldn't mind if he could give them all a treatment with a portable mindprinter. A commonality of language would be very helpful indeed, and it was unlikely that these people would have a Hyiakutt cartridge. He could not give Silent Woman a tongue, but he could give her understanding.

Silent Woman had been excellent on the trip so far. Her eyes showed some life again, and she seemed to be enjoying things. It was impossible, of course, to know what was really going through her mind, and he wasn't certain he wanted to know. He was afraid he might not like some of the images there.

The old chief had been correct about her tattoos. Her entire torso was covered with them, in many colors, and resembled an intricate design on a blanket. Cloud Dancer, as an artist, had been absolutely fascinated, and Silent Woman did not seem to mind the stares and obvious interest. Rather, she seemed pleased by it and almost proud. Many tribes used tattoos for many things, but Hawks had never seen anyone literally dressed in them. Whoever had done it had been a genuine artist in his or her own right. It was grotesque, but it was a pleasing grotesque, which was just as well: Even if she died old, she would die with that design.

She had been unable to get the massive bloodstains from her dress when they made camp, and when her tattoos were more appreciated than repulsed, she had looked at the nearly naked couple who had taken her from the Illinois and threw the dress into the river. It was more than a gesture; as the only thing she owned and, aside from the shoulder bag, the only tangible remnant from the Illinois village, she was cutting her last ties with the past and starting absolutely clean. Anyway, from a distance, the tattoos made her look clothed.

In the middle of the next day, they spotted the archaeologists' camp. Hawks pulled the canoe in, and they dragged it up into the brush and hid it as best they could.

The camp was made up of traditional mobile lodges, or tepees, some quite large, although the dig was small and quite limited. A dozen young men and women from a large variety of tribes seemed to be working under the guidance of an older gray-haired man. Most were dressed as primitively as Hawks and Cloud Dancer, although their loincloths were professionally made and hung on fine belts equipped with loops and clips for various tools. Their project looked well along; they were probably in the last stages before packing up.

Cloud Dancer was amazed. The sight of men and women working equally at a hard and exacting task rather than clearly dividing the labor was unusual to her; to see so many from such obviously different nations working and laughing together with no suspicion or animosity was unheard of.

They had clearly decided to live close to the land, and their camp, for the most part, was just like thousands of small tribal camps across the plains, but one tepee, the largest, stood out. For one thing, it had been heavily and cleverly waterproofed. For another, even Hawks had never before seen a tepee whose door shut with a heavy zipper.

These people must have developed solid relations with the local tribes. There was no sign of security. They lived like the natives of the area lived, and unless one knew just what to look for, there was no evidence that this was anything more than a transient village of some strange tribe. At the moment, there were only two people in the camp: a young man and woman who were ostensibly tending the cook fire but who seemed more interested in each other than in the duties at hand. The dig was down an embankment and a good kilometer or more away from the camp itself; the work could be heard in the distance.

Hawks began to reconsider his idea of a night attack. Even these people wouldn't trust that the river wouldn't bring them some threat in the dark.

'They probably have local tribesmen come in and guard them for the night," he told Cloud Dancer.

She looked at the romantic pair. "It would be easy to take those two now. If we wait a bit longer, it is possible we will not even be noticed."

"Perhaps." He looked at the sun. "They are sure to break for a midday meal. That is what is on the fire. Let us at least wait until after that and see their routine. I wish no violence if it can be avoided. Those are no threats."

It appeared that there were always two people remaining in the camp at any one time, though the intervals of the rotation were hard to judge. There was only one random event, when the gray-haired leader and two workers returned carrying something in a large blanket.

"They have dug up a body," Cloud Dancer hissed.

"The bodies in those places, if they were burial places at all, would have been dust for centuries," he assured her. "More likely it is an ancient weapon or carving or something that only they would even recognize as such."

They watched as the workers put the find down and unzipped the big tent. The leader cursed and came back out, fuming at no one in particular. They were using English, one of the two common languages-Spanish was the other-of Council.

"There's no room left in there even to store this temporarily without risking it," the leader fumed. "We're going to have to find some other place for it."

"Taking it to the village is out," one of his helpers, a young woman, responded.

"They wouldn't have anything from our dig there on a bet. Probably the best we can do for now is get some canvas, double wrap it, and stake it down and arrange to have it taken out as soon as possible."

"Well, that's only part of it," the chief archaeologist noted. "I think we can get the rest in three or four hours. We'll chance leaving it here, then wrap and transport the whole."

Hawks admitted to himself that he'd love to know what they'd found, but curiosity had already brought him enough trouble. He waited until the workers had returned to the dig after a lunch break; again, a pair remained behind to clean up.

"Now is our time," he told Cloud Dancer. "Try to make Silent Woman understand.

We must act quickly. Use the bow to cover me, and if I gesture so, shoot convincingly but not at anyone. Be ready to aid, though, if there is a shout or they try something."

"What if that happens?" she asked.

"Then we silence them, grab what we can, and run. I said I wanted no bloodshed, but if it is them or us, I choose us."

She nodded, and he simply got up and walked boldly into the archaeologists'

camp. The two there didn't even see him at first, and when they did, they stared nervously at him.

"Just relax and don't call out," he said in his accented English. "I wish no one to get hurt, but there are others in the bushes and trees over there who are covering me."

The pair looked appalled. "Who the hell are you?" the young man asked. "We have permission from the treaty holders to be here."

"I am obviously not with the treaty holders," Hawks responded, "and I have very little time. This is a robbery, but a limited and civilized one if you just relax and keep back."

"He's bluffing," the woman said toughly. "He has no one in the trees."

Hawks made the gesture, and an arrow flew, landing within half a meter of the young man's left foot.