“Vaintè, I would speak with you.”

“This evening, when this day’s work is done. I am busy now.”

“This evening may be too late for the work you desire may not be done.”

Vaintè did not move or speak, but one eye looked Peleinè up and down with cold scrutiny, although Peleinè was too distraught to be aware of her displeasure.

“I wish it were otherwise, but there is much talk among the Daughters and many are worried. They begin to feel that a mistake has been made.”

“A mistake? You assured me that you were no longer to be called the Daughters of Death but were now the Daughters of Life in everything. True citizens of Alpèasak, with your errors put behind you, ready to help and aid in all matters. Therefore I saw to it that all rights and honors were restored to those that followed you, raised you up to serve by my side. It is too late now to talk of mistakes.”

“Hear me out, mighty Vaintè.’ Peleinè wound her thumbs together in unconscious misery, her palms showing distressed colors to match. “Speaking of matters and making decisions is one thing. Carrying them out is another. We came with you of our free will, came across the sea, the land and the rivers with you since we agreed that what you are doing is correct. Agreed that the ustuzou are predatory animals that must be slaughtered just as meat animals are slaughtered.”

“This you agreed.”

“This we agreed before we saw the animals. Two of the Daughters were with the party that found the ustuzou pack yesterday.”

“I know of this. It was I who sent them.” To blood them, she thought, that was what Stallan said. Blood them. Stallan always did this with fargi who sought to become hunters. There were many who could not easily kill for they had been too long in the cities, too long from the sea, too far from their origins to kill quickly and efficiently. A killer does not think; a killer reacts. These Daughters of Death thought too much, thought all of the time and did very little else. Blooding them would help.

Peleinè was having difficulty in speaking. Vaintè waited with barely controlled patience.

“They should not have gone,” Peleinè finally said, her meaning muffled by unnecessary movements of her limbs.

“You presume to question my commands?” Vaintè’s crest was erect, quivering with rage.

“They are dead, Vaintè. Both dead.”

“They cannot be. The resistance was slight, none were injured.”

“These two returned. They spoke of the ustuzou camp and said that it was not unlike a small city, the ustuzou had many strange artifacts as well, and they cried out in pain as they died. Both of them had used their hèsotsan and they had killed. When they spoke aloud of this someone said that they were Daughters of Death now, not Daughters of Life, and they agreed that they were givers of death. So they died. Died just as though the Eistaa had taken their names away and ordered them from the city. That is how they died. Now that we know this, we know that we were wrong in our beliefs. Killing ustuzou brings death not life. We can no longer aid you, Vaintè. We cannot kill for you.”

Peleinè stopped her nervous movements when she said this for her speaking was done now, what she had to say had been said. The decision had been made. No, not made, had been forced upon them. What would happen next was up to Vaintè to decide.

Vaintè was as unmoving in thought as Peleinè was in anticipation. They faced each other in immobility, eyes staring, feet splayed. Silent.

This was rebellion, Vaintè thought, and it must be stopped at once. But with the thought came the realization that it could not be stopped, that these rebellious creatures would surely refuse to take up weapons in the future. Death was now her enemy. These misguided females had seen two of their number die and believed it would happen to them. Well, they were correct. Death would come to them with certainty now. They would not fight but they still could die. There was no room for noncombatants in this war. They would be taken care of.

“You are dismissed,” she said. “Go to your Daughters of Death and tell them that they have shamed their city. Their hèsotsan will be taken from them. They will work — but they will not be required to kill.”

Peleinè signed grateful acknowledgment as she turned and hurried away. She should have remained to listen for Vaintè had not finished her speaking.

“Not required to kill. But they will be required to die.” She called her tarakast to her, made the fargi leading it bend over so she could mount the creature by standing on her shoulders. Turned it and ordered it to run, to pass the fargi and the uruktop to the head of the advancing column where she would lead the march.

Armed Yilanè on fast tarakast spread out ahead of the army, while others rode to each side and guarded the flanks. Stallan had studied the pictures closely as always and she pointed the way. It was an easy ride to the planned halting place by the river and Vaintè signaled the stop just as one of the scouts came hurrying back.

“Gone,” the scout said simply, large group and ustuzou in the meaning.

“They will have moved their stopping place again,” Vaintè said, hope-of-this in her movements.

“This may be,” the scout said. “I followed the track as it returned to the stopping place where they stayed before. The track went on along the river and into the river valley and that is when I returned to tell you.”

“They did not turn away or double back or escape in any other way?” Stallan asked, rigid attention in the forward angle of her body.

“Impossible. I followed until the rock walls rose high and there was but one way to go.”

“Trapped!” Stallan said with exultation, pulling her beast close to Vaintè’s in order to pass over a picture to her. “See this, sarn’enoto, see the trap they have entered. The river valley is wide but the walls are high with this single entrance along the river. The river exits here over rocks and through rapids. There is no way out there.”

Sarn’enoto, an ancient title from the half-forgotten past, now revived. A leader in armed conflict — whom all obeyed. Now she must think like such a leader. She held up the picture and touched it with her thumb. “Here, on this side, you yourself showed me a way down into the valley.”

“A way that can be blocked. A force can be bent there to seal the exit, the main force can remain here to attack.”

“It shall be done that way. Issue the orders. In these other pictures I see more ustuzou in the valley.”

“More ustuzou to die in the valley,” was Stallan’s ready answer as she raked her sharp claws into her tarakast so that it reared and hissed with pain. She controlled it easily, turned it and thundered off.

The sun was just past the zenith when Okotsei handed Vaintè the latest pictures, still warm and damp. She looked at them closely, then passed them on one by one to Stallan who stood at her side.

“Everything is now ready,” Stallan said when she had looked at the last one. “There is no escape.” Her thumbs snapped shut and the pictures crumpled and broke. “The cliff path is guarded and sealed. We await your orders, sarn’enoto.”