Yet the fargi were so numerous that some did manage to escape, to reach the sea and splash in panic through the dead bodies there, to dive and swim to the boats. The hunters waded after them into the breaking waves, their bows striking death until their supply of arrows was exhausted.

The killing stopped only when there was nothing left alive to kill. The hunters walked among the heaped bodies, kicking at them, spears stabbing down at any sound or movement. One by one they stopped, exhausted, silent — until a hunter shouted a cry of victory. They all joined in then, an ululating call that was more animal than Tanu, a cry that carried across the water to the surviving fargi in the boats who moaned and cowered with fear.

The first light of dawn revealed the gruesome details of the night of slaughter. Kerrick looked about in horror, shuddering away from the dead that were heaped on all sides, tumbled one on top of the other. This sight did not seem to bother the hunters in the slightest. They called out happily, bragging of their exploits while they waded among the corpses in the surf to cut their arrows free. As the light grew Kerrick saw that his hands and arms were thick with blood; he went along the beach away from the fargi bodies and washed them clean in the sea. When he emerged Herilak was waiting for him, shouting with jubilation.

“It has been done! We have hit back at the murgu, struck them down, avenged the sammads that they destroyed. It has been a good night’s work.”

Out to sea the boats were fleeing south — most of them empty, or with just one or two fargi aboard. The slaughter had been most efficient.

Kerrick felt drained of hate and fear, exhausted. He sat down heavily on the heap of bladders of preserved meat.

Herilak shook his spear after the fleeing boats, shouted after them.

“Go back! Tell the others what happened here this night. Tell the rest of the murgu that this will happen to all of them if they dare venture north again.”

Kerrick did not share his unreasoning hatred, for he had lived too long among the Yilanè. In the growing light he saw the face of the nearest corpse — and recognized her. A hunter he had seen many times with Stallan. He felt himself shaking and had to avert his eyes from the horrifying sight of her ripped-open throat. A feeling of immense grief possessed him — though he was not sure what he was grieving for.

When Herilak had turned about at last Kerrick shook himself and called out.

“Did we have losses of our own?”

“One. Isn’t that a true victory? Just one, stung by a poisoned dart. The surprise was complete. We have done what we came here to do.”

“We are not finished here yet,” Kerrick said, trying to be practical, to forget his emotions. He tapped the bladder that he was sitting upon. “These contain meat. As long as the outer skin is not broken the meat will not rot. I have eaten it. The taste is vile but it will sustain life.”

Herilak was leaning on his spear now, thinking. “Then we have won life as well as victory. With this even more Tanu will survive the coming winter. I must send runners to the sammads, bring them here for this treasure.” He looked about the corpse-strewn beach. “What else here can we use?”

Kerrick bent and picked up a discarded hèsotsan and wiped the sand from its dark body. When he pointed it towards the empty sea and squeezed in the correct manner there was a sharp crack and the dart vanished in the surf. Wrapped in thought he prodded it and the tiny mouth gaped open; he smoothed it shut again then held the weapon up to Herilak.

“Gather up the death-sticks. And the darts, I’ll show you what they look like. We cannot breed these things — but if they are fed they will live for years. The poison on their darts will kill murgu as easily as Tanu. If we had had them tonight not one murgu would have left this beach alive.”

Herilak struck him enthusiastically on the shoulder. “This victory will be only the first of many. I will send for the sammads at once.”

When he was alone Kerrick took up one of the drinking bladders and drank deep, then looked around at the excited hunters. It was a victory, the first one for the Tanu. But he had a dark sensation that any future victories might not be this easy. He looked at the nearest fargi corpse, then stood and forced himself to begin a search of beach.

It took a long time to be certain; he even worked his way through the surf looking at all the bodies there, made himself turn them face upwards one by one. When he had finished he dropped wearily onto the sand.

Some of the Yilanè he had recognized, mostly hunters, but there was even one he knew who had been a boat trainer. But he had searched in vain for one familiar face. It had not been there. He looked down the coast to the south, where the fleeing boats had long since vanished.

Stallan had been on one of them, he was positive of that. She had certainly led this expedition, and just as surely escaped with her own life in the darkness.

They would meet again one day, Kerrick was very sure of that. This defeat would not stop the Yilanè. If anything it would make them more resolute. This was not the finish of the battle, but only the beginning. Where it would finally end Kerrick had no idea.

But he did know that what was to come would be a clash such as this world had never seen.

A savage battle between two races who were united in only one thing; their absolute hatred of one for the other.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As a rain squall passed over the boats, gusts of wind set them to bobbing in the short waves. The heavy drops drummed on their wet skins and hissed into the ocean around them. The dark shore was hidden from sight now and the sea was empty behind. There was no sign of any pursuit. Stallan looked in all directions, then ordered her boat to halt and signaled to the others to do the same.

They came together in the gray light of dawn, without a command being spoken, seeking comfort in each other’s presence. Even the unmanned boats pressed close, staying with the occupied boats and confused because they were not being instructed. Stallan looked at the surviving fargi with growing rage.

So few! A panic-stricken handful, all that remained of the great striking force that she had led north. What had gone wrong?

Her rage grew: she knew what had gone wrong, but when she thought about this her anger was so great that she had to put all thought of it from her mind for the moment. It would have to wait until she had these survivors safely back in Alpèasak; this was her first responsibility.

“Are any of you injured?” she called out, turning as she spoke so all of them could understand her. “Raise your arms if you are.”

Stallan saw that almost half of them were wounded. “We have no bandages, they are gone with the rest of the supplies. If the wounds are open, wash them with seawater. There is nothing else. Now look around you, do you see the unoccupied boats? They will get separated soon and we cannot afford to lose a single one. I want at least one fargi in every boat. Make the transfers now while we are all together.”

Some of the fargi were still too confused and panic-stricken to think for themselves. Stallan ordered her own boat through the pack, pushing and calling to them loudly until they obeyed.

“This boat is not empty,” a fargi called out. “There is a dead fargi in it.”

“Into the ocean with it, and any others you find.”

“This boat is wounded, it has ustuzou arrows piercing it.”

“Leave them in place — you will do more harm than good by pulling them out.”