“That is not good,” Malsas‹ said. “Too many fargi are already dead.”
“I know that, Eistaa, I of all people know that. Therefore it is my strong desire to see no more fargi deaths. So I suggest, since they will not be expected to fight, that we replace the fargi with the Daughters of Death. Surely these parasites on the resources of our city should be good for something.”
Malsas‹ was gracious in her show of appreciation for this suggestion, the color of her palms yellow-hued with pleasure. “You are sarn’enoto, Vaintè, because you produce ideas of this nature. Do it, do it at once.”
“The arrangements will be completed this day, the supplies loaded. Both forces will leave at dawn.”
The time was short, but Vaintè had been planning this assault for days, not knowing if she would ever be able to order it, but ready still if that opportunity should come. The hurried preparations were accomplished with the efficiency of all Yilanè cooperative ventures, only Enge causing any difficulties at all. She insisted on talking to Vaintè, was fiercely determined to stay until the audience was granted. She was surprised that her request was instantly granted.
“What are these orders you have issued, Vaintè? What do you wish to do with the Daughters of Life?”
“I am sarn’enoto. You will address me that way.”
Enge drew herself up — then realized that personal pride was not important now.
“From one lowest to one highest, I spoke in haste, sarn’enoto. Please inform me of the nature of your commands.”
“You and your companions will be sent north in boats. You will not be required to use weapons or to kill. We wish only your labors to aid your city.”
“There is more to it than that. You have not told me all of your plans.”
“No, I have not. Nor will I. You eat the food of Alpèasak, you are protected by those who are ready to die for Alpèasak. When your assistance is needed you will do as you are ordered.”
“There is something wrong here and I do not like it. What if we refuse?”
“You will still go. Bound and tied together if necessary, but you will go. Now you will leave my presence. The choice is yours and the decision of no importance to me at all. Leave me. I have much to do.”
Vaintè’s firmness of mind — and indifference to their decision — must have convinced Enge that the Daughters would be bound and loaded that way if they did not do as they had been ordered. In the first light of dawn the Daughters of Life labored to load the supplies aboard the boats, then boarded themselves without further protest.
Vaintè herself made sure that all the night defenses were there, but she turned away instantly when Stallan hurried up with a file of pictures clamped between her thumbs.
“These are the enlarged pictures you ordered, sarn’enoto.”
“Did you see him? Is he with this pack?”
Stallan’s movements were ambiguous. “There is one creature that it might be, but they all have fur, they all look the same to me.”
Vaintè seized the pictures and went through them quickly, throwing them to the ground one by one — until she found what she wanted. She held the picture up in triumph.
“Here, without a doubt, it is Kerrick! The fur has grown back as you said, but that face, there is no mistake. He is there, on that shore, and he shall not escape. You know what you are to do?”
“I do. It is a good plan.”
Having said this, Stallan permitted herself one of her rare demonstrations of good humor. “A very happiness-making plan. It is the first time that I have welcomed an ustuzou attack.”
The loading done, Stallan led the boats north. Only at the end of the day did she discover that all of the effort had been wasted. Although they did everything as planned, sailed all day north to reach the appointed beach at dusk, unloaded and prepared the trap, it was not to be sprung. In the last light of day an uruketo appeared beyond the breakers, the accompanying enteesenat sporting about it. A Yilanè waved for attention from the top of the great fin. Stallan commanded one of the night boats to take her out to it. When she was close the Yilanè called down to her.
“I speak for Vaintè. She tells you to return to Alpèasak in the morning. Bring everything back. The attack is not to go ahead as planned.”
This was the last thing that Stallan expected. She moved in interrogation and dismay.
“The reason,” the Yilanè said, “is that the ustuzou are gone. They have left the beach and returned inland as fast as they can crawl. There are none left for us to destroy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was late afternoon before the raptor flew south. The great bird had killed a rabbit earlier in the day, then had flapped up to the top of a tall dead tree with its prey still kicking in its talons. Perching there, it had torn the creature apart and had eaten it. When it was done it remained, sated. The dark lump on its leg was obvious to anyone who might have looked up at it from the huddle of tents below. The raptor wiped its hooked beak clean on the bark, preened its feathers — and finally launched itself into the air. Rising in ever higher circles it turned and flew away to the south.
One of the boys who had been ordered to watch the bird ran at once to tell Kerrick, who shielded his eyes and looked at the sky, saw the white speck vanishing in the distance.
“Herilak, it is gone,” he called out.
The big hunter turned from the deer’s carcass that he was butchering, arms red to the elbows. “There may be others.”
“There may be, we can never be sure. But that flock of seabirds is gone and the boys say that there are no other large birds to be seen.”
“What do you think that we should do, margalus?”
“Leave now and not wait for dark. We have all the food we need, there is nothing to be gained by staying here any longer.”
“Agreed. We go.”
Inside the tents all of their belongings had already been bundled and tied, ready for departure. As the tents came down the travois were lashed to the mastodons and quickly loaded. Everyone was eager to leave the menace of the coast for the security of the mountains. Even as the last loads were being tied into place the first protesting mastodon was trudging heavily away. The hunters looked over their shoulders as they left, but the beach was empty, as was the sky. The fires still smoked on the shore, the half-gutted deer hung from the frame. The sammads were gone.
They walked until dark, stopped and ate cold meat, lit no fires, then went on. The march continued through the night with only brief halts to rest the animals. By dawn they were in the forested hills, distant from the route they had taken on their westward trek to the beaches. The mastodons were freed of the travois so they could graze while the weary sammads slept under the trees.
When Armun opened her eyes the slanting beams of light through the branches showed that it was afternoon. The baby’s hungry, fretting crying had woken her. She sat with her back to the bole of the tree and put him to her breast. Kerrick was no longer sleeping at her side; she saw him in the glade talking with the sammadars. His face was set and serious when he trudged back up the hill, but it lit up with a smile when he saw her there. Her smile mirrored his and she took his hand in hers when he sat next to her.
“We are leaving soon,” he said, turning away as he saw the loving smile fade from her lips; her hand clenched hard.
“You have to do this?” she said, and it was halfway between a statement and a question.
“You know that I must. It was my plan — I cannot let the others go to the attack without me.”
“You’ll be leaving me…” There was a hoarseness to her voice, all the pain of her lonely life behind her words. “You are all that I have.”