The flies were already swarming over the tumbled bodies on the rocks below. Nothing moved other than the flies, their buzzing loud in the silence. Kerrick took a handful of darts and began to push them, one by one, into the hèsotsan.
“They have run away,” Sanone said, cautiously raising his head to look.
“The fight hasn’t started yet,” Kerrick said. “They were just probing to test our strength. They’ll be back.” He turned to look at Sanone and froze. “Don’t move! Stay where you are.”
He reached out a steady hand and plucked the dart from Sanone’s headscarf. “If this had gone through you would be dead.”
Sanone looked down calmly at the deadly bit of thorn and leaf. “Our cloth has values I never thought of. It will not stop a spear — but is proof against this inurgu poison. Perhaps we should wrap ourselves thickly and survive in that manner.”
Kerrick threw the dart away. “That is why we are safe behind these boulders. Only when the darts fly like leaves in the autumn will we be in danger.”
He turned to look at the hunters sprawled along the top of the barrier. They were all armed with hèsotsan and had made good use of them, conserving their arrows and spears. The spear-armed Sasku were on the rear of the barrier and on the ground, ready for support if they were needed. Now all that they could do was wait.
Herilak stood on the summit of the rock wall and was the first to see the attackers.
“They come again,” he called out, then dropped into concealment himself.
“Do not waste darts,” Kerrick ordered. “Let them get closer this time before you fire.”
He knew that this was the correct thing to do. When the first attack had come someone had fired his hèsotsan far too early when the murgu were still out of range, and the others had begun firing as well. This was a waste: the supply of darts was adequate, but the hèsotsan tired and did not react quickly when used too much. This time the defenders would wait until the fargi were climbing the rocks.
They were closer now — and Kerrick suddenly realized that those in front were unarmed. What did this mean? Was it a trick of some kind? It did not matter, in fact it was better for it made them easier to kill.
“Now, fire, now!” he cried out, squeezing his hèsotsan and sending death biting into the skin of the nearest attacker. The Tanu were shouting and firing and still the enemy came on. There was an occasional scream, but for the most part they died in silence. It was the defenders who were making the noise so much so that Kerrick did not hear the voice calling out at first. Then he made out the words.
“The river, there, in the water!”
Kerrick turned, stared, recoiled. Dark spots in the rushing water, more and more of them, some being swept towards the bank. Yilanè, swimming with the flow, dark lengths in their hands, hèsotsan, coming ashore…
“Spears, arrows, kill them in the water!” Herilak called out, leaping down from the barrier, his great voice rising above all the other sounds. “Kerrick, stay there with the killing-sticks. They will attack now in force. Stop them there.”
Kerrick turned away with an effort, saw that Herilak had divined the enemy’s intentions well. Behind the unarmed attackers, now heaped in piles of dead, more and more fargi appeared, firing as they came.
“Don’t let them through!” Kerrick shouted. “Stay here, keep firing.” He fired himself, then fired again, the fargi so close that he saw the dart grow suddenly from her throat, saw her eyes widen as she fell backwards down the slope.
Now the living were climbing over the dead, using them for cover, firing themselves. The battle was no longer one-sided. One hunter was hit, then another. Kerrick’s hèsotsan writhed in his hands when he squeezed it and it took him long moments to realize that it was empty of darts. And there was no time to reload. He seized up his spear, stabbed upwards at the fargi who had clambered to the top, sent her falling backwards and shrieking with pain.
She was the last, the attack was broken for the moment. He dropped with his back to the stone, gasping for breath, forcing his fingers to move smoothly as he fed darts into the hèsotsan. The others had stopped firing as well for want of targets; he permitted himself a quick glimpse at the river.
A good number of fargi had reached the shore, but they were dead. Along with some of the defenders, for it had been a close run thing. In the shallows the dark figure of a Sasku was draped across the corpse of a Yilanè in obscene embrace. Other corpses, bristling with arrows, floated away in the stream. Sanone called out and Kerrick turned to him, saw him standing on top of the barrier and shielding his eyes against the setting sun.
“They’ve gone back,” he cried. “They have stopped the attack. We have won!”
Won, Kerrick thought, looking around at the Tanu dead. What have we won? We have slaughtered some fargi in a world teeming with fargi. Some of us are dead and they will keep attacking until we are all dead. We have held them but we have won nothing. Even if we beat them back this time they will come again. They loathe us just as much as we hate them. They can find us wherever we hide so we cannot hide. They will follow us wherever we run, so we cannot run.
Not us, he realized then. Me. If all they wanted was to kill Tanu there were plenty on the other side of the mountains. The raptors and the night birds could see everything, watch everyone. Yet this great force had come here, striking directly at this valley like a far-flung spear. Why? Because he was here; it was a chilling thought. Vaintè, it had to be her, still alive, still seeking vengeance.
What could be done? Where could he escape to? What possible defense had they?
Anger possessed him, shook his body, sent him leaping to his feet brandishing the hèsotsan over his head, shouting.
“You cannot do this, Vaintè, you cannot kill us all. You will try but you cannot. This is our land to live in and you cannot cross the ocean with your cold creatures and drive us from it. You will not win here and you will go crawling home with your few survivors as soon as that is clear to you. Then you will come again…”
Kerrick realized that Sanone was looking at him in amazement, not understanding a word that he was saying. His temper died but the cold anger remained. He smiled wryly at the mandukto and spoke in Sasku.
“You have seen them for the first time today. Do you like it? Do you enjoy seeing murgu kill your people? We must put an end to them — once and for all.”
Kerrick stopped then, breathing hard. Looking out at the high-piled dead, the handful of living. Could the Yilanè be stopped? If so — how?
There could be only one way. They could retreat no more, hide no more.
The battle must be taken to the enemy. That was the answer, a clear and resolute answer and an inescapable one.
Sanone looked at Kerrick in wonder now as he spoke. No, he was not speaking, for the sounds he was emitting were like nothing he had ever heard before. And as he talked he moved his body, threw his head back, and his arms shook as though he had a seizure.
Kerrick saw the expression on Sanone’s face and realized that he had spoken in Yilanè for he was thinking about the Yilanè — and thinking like a Yilanè now. Coldly and savagely analyzing what must be done, examining the facts then reaching a solution. When he spoke again it was in Sasku, carefully and clearly.
“We will take the war to the murgu. We will seek them out in their city far to the south. We will find them there and we will kill them there. When this place that they call Alpèasak is gone so will they be. I know that city and I know how to destroy it. That is what we will do.” He turned and called down in Marbak to Herilak at the water’s edge.