Vaintè was looking at the model of Alpèasak when the fargi brought her the word that an uruketo was coming into the harbor. She dismissed the messenger with a sharp movement of her arms, but her concentration had been broken. Looking at the model of the city did not help. The defenses were strong and Stallan was strengthening them. There were no weak spots that she could see, no places where the ustuzou could do any harm, other than killing some of the meat animals. She was only irritating herself standing here.
She would go greet the uruketo and see what cargo it held. More fargi were on their way from Entoban* as well as hèsotsan of increased power. Many of the cities of that great continent were responding with aid. Her army would be strong, the ustuzou would die.
When she reached the open way she was aware for the first time of the banked-up clouds and the distant rumble of thunder. There was the sudden patter of large raindrops around her. It looked as though a storm was on the way. It was no concern of hers; she had far more important matters to think about.
Krunat followed the group of fargi down the dusty path, her assistant hurrying behind with a bundle of wooden stakes. Each one of the fargi carried a young fruit tree from the nursery, roots balled and ready for planting. This time Krunat was going along with the working party to make absolutely sure that the trees were planted where they belonged. Some of the Yilanè in this city were as stupid as fargi, forgetting instructions and botching the simplest jobs. She had found a number of fields and plantations that did not match the model at all and had had to make corrections. Not this time. She would put in the markers herself and make absolutely sure that the trees were planted where they belonged. She rolled one eye up towards the darkening sky. It looked as though it might rain. Good, fine for the new trees.
A turning in the track took them to the edge of a green field. A line of fargi were coming across the grass towards them. That was Krunat’s first thought — but there was something wrong about them. They were too tall, too thin. Fur on them.
She halted, frozen with shock. Ustuzou here, in the city? It was not possible. Her assistant passed her just as the sharp crack of hèsotsan sounded across the field.
Fargi curled, fell, her assistant dropped the stakes with a clatter as a dart caught her in the side. Krunat turned in panic, ran back into the safety of the trees. She knew the city well, there were guards near by, they must be warned.
“One of them is getting away, there!” Herilak called out, starting forward.
“No time!” Kerrick called out. “We don’t have much farther to go — and we must start the fire before the rain comes.”
He ran now, gasping for breath, with the tired hunters running behind him. That row of trees ahead, that would be the place. He heard hèsotsan being fired behind him but he dared not look, ran on.
He stumbled and dropped beneath the tall oak tree, threw down his weapons, and dragged the carved box from the bag at his waist. There was more firing and loud shouting as Herilak ran up.
“They know we are here. Killed some, so did they. They are back in the trees now and we’re holding them.”
“Get me the branches,” Kerrick called out, forcing himself to move slowly as he knelt and took the fire stones from the box. When he took out a pinch of dried wood as well a sudden gust of wind blew it from his hand; raindrops spattered on the leaves above. A length of branch was dropped beside him, then another.
Slowly, go slowly! It must be done right the first time because there would be no second chance. With trembling hands he placed the wooden box on the ground, spilled all of the dried wood dust inside it. Stone against stone now, struck sharply together, just as he had done it countless times before. The long sparks shot out, again and again.
A thin curl of blue smoke drifted up from the box.
He bent over, blew on it gently, added the flakes of dried leaves to the tiny glow, blew again. A thin red flame flared brightly. Bit by bit he added all of the leaves, then dug the bits of bark and twig from his bag. Only when all of these were burning brightly did he risk looking up.
There were bodies behind him in the field, Tanu and Yilanè both. Not as many as he had feared. Herilak had driven the attackers away and had placed hunters as guards. They were crouching behind trees, weapons ready, preventing the murgu from coming back. Herilak hurried towards Kerrick now, his face running with sweat, smiling widely at the sight of the blaze.
The wooden box itself was burning when Kerrick pushed it into the stacked wood, then piled thicker branches on top. Heat flared out and drops of rain sizzled as they fell into the fire. He dared not look up at the approaching storm as he built the fire higher and higher. Only when the lengths of wood were burning brightly, the heat of them forcing him to keep his arm before his face, did he cry out as loudly as he could.
“Now! Everyone — to the fire! The city burns!”
His shout brought excited cheers, running feet. Branches were pulled out, carried away, crackling sparks falling in their wake. Kerrick seized up a branch himself and ran into the thicket, pushing it before him among the dry leaves. They smoldered and smoked — then burst into bright flame. He moved on, lighting other bushes, until the heat drove him back and the smoking branch burnt his hand. He threw it through the flames into the trees beyond.
All along the edge of the grove shouting hunters were setting more and more trees alight. Flames were already shooting up through the branches of the oak before him, jumping to the next tree. A single branch remained in the fire that he had lit and Kerrick grabbed it up and ran with it, past the others. Past Sanone at the far end who was in among the trees, firing them. Kerrick went on a good distance before he jabbed the torch into the undergrowth. The wind whipped the sparks away and in an instant the brush was alight.
Flame and smoke were shooting high into the air now, roiling darkly against the already darkened sky. The trees crackled and blazed, thunder rumbled. The storm had still not broken.
The fargi were having difficulty in rounding up the beasts for the daily slaughter. Something was disturbing them, they kept rushing from one side of the pen to the other, even knocking down one of the fargi, their eyes rolling so that they shone whitely. The Yilanè in charge was shouting loud orders to no avail. She was suddenly aware of a crackling noise and a strange, pungent smell. She turned about to see the sheets of sunlight climbing skywards, black stormclouds behind them.
The smell came again, and a wave of warm and delightful air. What was happening, what could this mean? She could only stand and stare as the flames came close, licking at the nearby trees. Wonderfully warm. The animals were screaming behind her as she walked over and held her hand to the warmth and light. Then she screamed as well.
Ikemend opened the hanalè door a crack and looked out. Akotolp made a peremptory gesture of command, ordering her to open it wide.
“First you send for me — then you block my way,” the fat scientist said, her jowls waggling at the affront. “Admit me at once.”
“I abase myself,” Ikemend said, ushering Akotolp in, then sealing the entrance behind her. “The males have been quarreling again, it is the weather perhaps. There is an injury…”
“Bring the creature here at once.”
The firmness in her voice and the abrupt movements of her body sent Ikemend scurrying away. She returned almost at once pulling a truculent Esetta* after her.
“This is the one,” she said, pushing the male forward. “Starts fights, causes trouble, got what he deserves.”
Akotolp ignored this as she seized Esetta*’s arm and turned it over to examine it. Her thumbs gave an extra squeeze when she did this and Esetta*, his back turned to the guardian, half-closed one eye in a sultry gesture. Akotolp always enjoyed these visits to the hanalè.