“Your kind are not permitted in the valley.”

A twist of the spearpoint made the message clear. The Kargu glared up at him, dark eyes framed by his matted beard and hair.

“I go through… to hills after,” he said thickly.

“You go back. Or you stay here forever.”

“Faster going through. To other sammads.”

“You came here to steal, nothing else. Your kind do not pass through our valley, you must know that. Why are you trying to do that now?”

Reluctantly and clumsily the Kargu told him why.

The porro was finished and Kerrick was glad of it. It had done strange things to his head. Whether they were good or bad things, he wasn’t sure. He stood and stretched, then went outside the picture-filled cavern where Herilak joined him. They watched as Sanone led the manduktos in solemn procession to the newborn mastodon calf where it rested on a bed of straw. They chanted in unison and Sanone rubbed red pigment onto the creature’s tiny trunk. Its mother did not appear to be concerned by the attention; she chewed calmly on a green branch. Kerrick was about to speak when moving figures at the riverbank drew his attention. One of them, with dark hair and dressed in furs, had to be a Kargu, and he wondered at his presence here. He knew that the hunters came sometimes to trade, but this one was empty-handed; the Sasku walking behind him carried two spears. He jabbed the Kargu with one of them and pointed towards Sanone, ordering the hunter in that direction.

“What is it?” Herilak asked. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know. Let me listen.”

“This one came into the valley,” Nenne said. “I brought him to you, Sanone, for you to hear what he has to say.” He prodded with the spear again. “Speak. What you told me.”

The Kargu looked around, scowling, rubbing the sweat from his face with a filthy hand, smearing the dirt there even more.

“I was in the hills, hunting alone,” he said reluctantly. “All night by a waterhole. Deer never came. Went back to the tents this morning. All dead.”

A cold premonition seized Kerrick as Sanone spoke. “Dead? Your sammad? What happened to them?”

“Dead. Arderidh the sammadar, no head.” He made a swiping motion across his throat with his finger. “No spear, no arrow. All dead. Just these.”

He dug inside his furs and took out a folded scrap of leather and opened it slowly. Kerrick knew as he unwrapped it, knew what he would see there.

Small, pointed, feathered.

Darts from a hèsotsan.

“They have followed! They are here!”

Herilak bellowed the words aloud, a roar of mighty pain. His fist lashed out and smote the Kargu’s arm so hard that the hunter screeched in pain. The darts fell to the ground and Herilak ground them underfoot.

The Sasku looked on in amazement, unable to understand, and Sanone looked to Kerrick for some explanation. But Kerrick felt the same mixture of black anger and fear as Herilak did. He drew in a shuddering breath and forced out the words.

“It is them. From the south. The murgu. The murgu who walk like Tanu. They are coming again.”

“Are these the murgu you told me of? The ones you have fled from?”

“The same. Murgu of a kind you have never seen nor thought possible. They walk and talk and build cities and kill Tanu. They killed my sammad, they killed Herilak’s sammad. Every hunter, every woman, every child. Every mastodon. Dead.”

At these last words Sanone nodded with solemn understanding. He had given this matter much thought ever since Kerrick had first told him about the murgu. He had not spoken of it until now; he had not been sure. The surety came now for it had been taught, and he knew the teachings, and he knew that there was only one creature that would dare to kill a mastodon.

“Karognis…”he said, in a voice so filled with loathing that those closest to him shivered and stepped back. “The Karognis is loose on the land and is now close to us.”

Kerrick was only half-listening for he was not interested in what Sanone was saying. “What do we do, Herilak? Do we flee once again?”

“If we flee again they will only follow again. Now I know the meaning of my dreams. This is the day that I saw coming. I will meet them and I will fight. Then I will die. But it will be a warrior’s death for many of the murgu will die with me.”

“No,” Kerrick said, the word harsh as a slap across the face. “That would be good if you were one man and wanted to die. But you are the sacripex. Do you want the hunters and the sammads to die with you? Have you forgotten that the murgu are as numberless as the sands upon the shore? In open battle we can only lose. So now you must tell me. Are you the sacripex who will lead us in battle — or are you the hunter Herilak who wishes to go alone against the murgu and die?”

The big hunter was a head taller than Kerrick and stood looking down at him, his hands opening and closing now, hands that could reach out and kill. Yet Kerrick was as angry as he, staring back at him in cold silence, waiting for his answer.

“Those are harsh words, Kerrick. No one speaks to Herilak in that manner.”

“As margalus I speak to the sacripex. To the hunter Herilak I would speak differently, for his pain is mine.” His voice softened now. “It is your choice, great Herilak, and no one can decide for you.”

Herilak stared down in silence, his fists now clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Then he nodded slowly, and when he spoke there was understanding and respect in his words.

“And so shall the son teach the father. You make me remember that I forced a choice upon you once, and you listened to me and you left the murgu and became a Tanu hunter once again. If you could do that, then I must do my duty as sacripex and forget what I saw in my dreams. But you are margalus. You must tell us what the murgu are doing.”

The incident was over, forgotten. Now there were decisions to be made. Kerrick looked at the Kargu hunter, eyes unfocused and looking through him, deep in thought, seeing instead the Yilanè and the fargi who had come here. Trying to see what they were doing and how were they doing it. The Kargu moved uneasily under his unseeing gaze as long moments passed before Kerrick spoke to him.

“You are a hunter. You found your sammad dead. What tracks did you find, what sign?”

“Many tracks, those of beasts I have never seen before. Came from south, go back south.”

Kerrick felt a sudden leap of hope. He turned to Herilak, translated the Kargu’s words. Groped to divine the meaning of the Yilanè movements.

“If they returned they must have been part of a larger body. A small group of fargi would not come this far, it would be impossible. Their creatures fly, they know where we are before they attack. They knew the Kargu were camped in that place so they attacked swiftly and slaughtered them. That means they know where the sammads are. And they know about the Sasku and this valley.”

Sanone’s words broke through his thoughts, drawing his attention back to the present.

“What is happening? I understand none of this.”

“I spoke of the murgu who walk like men,” Kerrick said. “They are coming now from the south, in great numbers I believe. They want only to kill us. They have ways of knowing where we are well before they attack.”

“Will they attack us as well? What will they do?” Sanone asked, an echo of Herilak’s same question.

“They will know about this valley. They will kill everyone here because you are Tanu.”

Would they do that? Kerrick thought. Yes, of course. They would surely attack the sammads at the encampment first, then come here. But when? They would have to swing wide around the valley, might even be doing that now. But would they strike now, this very afternoon? It was a terrible thought that at this very moment the sammads might be under attack, destroyed. No, the Yilanè did not think that way. Find the prey, lie up overnight, attack at dawn. They had done this in the past, it had always succeeded in the past, they would not change it now. He turned swiftly to Herilak.