Kerrick was still awake the next morning at first light, had slept little during the night. He lay unmoving, listening to Armun’s gentle breathing, until sunlight touched the wall of the tent. Only then did he slip out quietly and go to the shelter where he kept the hèsotsan, to unwrap it carefully and hold it up in the light. The dead area was there, bigger now, still there.

The flap of the hunters’ tent had been thrown back and Ortnar sat in the morning sunlight. His dead leg was stretched out before him on the ground, his perpetual scowl etched with deep lines into his face.

“I want to talk with Harl,” Kerrick said.

“I still slept when he left, well before light. He knows a place by the stream where deer come at dawn. He will be a good hunter one day.”

“I will speak with him when he returns.” There was nothing to add, Ortnar was never one for small talk. Kerrick turned away and went to his own tent. Armun was awake, stirring the fire to life.

“I saw you looking at the death-stick. You worry too much about it.”

“It is more than a worry. It has the sickness.”

“Not again!” The words were a cry of pain, wrenched from her.

“Again. I will have to go to the murgu city. Again.”

“No, not you. There are others who can go.”

“Others could surely go — but they would never return. Only a Tanu who is half marag can understand that murgu city. Now I will eat and rest. I slept little last night.”

The sun was high in the sky when he awoke. The sky was bright and he blinked into its glare. Harl was sitting outside, waiting for him in patient silence. Seeing him like this, his mind still clouded with sleep, Kerrick looked at him as a stranger. No longer the small boy, but a hunter grown. As soon as he saw that Kerrick was awake he stood and came over to the tent.

“Ortnar said you came to find me, you would speak to me.”

“He told me that you were hunting. The deer came?”

“Right beneath me. Two are dead. What is it you want?”

Like Ortnar, he had no time for small talk. He used words like arrows, sharp and swift.

“I want you. Will you go to the murgu city with me? My death-stick has the sickness.”

“How many will go?”

“You and I alone.”

Harl’s eyes opened wide. “You went with the sammadar Herilak last time.”

“I did. And he killed the murgu we met. This time I wish to rely on skill in woodcraft and not killing. I wish to see and not be seen. Will you go with me?”

Harl smiled and held out his clenched fists, one above the other. “I will go. We will bring back death-sticks?”

“Yes. But you must tell me one thing now. Will you do as I order you to? If we see the murgu of the city they must not be killed. Will you do that?”

“You are asking a difficult thing.”

“I know. But if you do not do it, then another will. You are of my sammad. If you will do as I ask you, then there will be no other hunter. It is your choice.”

“Then I choose to come with you. I will do as you order, sammadar. When will we leave?”

“In the morning. Spear and bow only. The death-sticks stay here.”

“What do we do then if we meet a large marag that we cannot kill with spear or arrow?”

“We die. So it is your skill in the forest that will lead us away from them. Can you do that?”

“Yes. We will do as the sammadar says.”

They left at dawn, and by the heat of the day they were well upon the track south. When they came to the ford across the narrow river they took turns to scrub themselves clean in the clear water, one washing while the other stood guard. Harl could not see the reason for this, still he did as he was told. He grumbled about getting his bow and quiver wet, spread his arrows on the grass to dry. Kerrick looked at their packs of dried meat and ekkotaz.

“You cannot wash the meat,” Harl said. Kerrick smiled.

“True. But we can eat it. Before we enter the city we throw away what we haven’t finished, the bags as well. The last time we went I cut up the leather to bind the death-sticks. The illness could have been passed on that way. This time we will use split saplings and vines to hold them. They must not get the sickness again.”

On the second day Harl stopped them with a raised hand, listened to the forest ahead. There was something there, large. They made a long swing out through the trees to the shore, went along the sand for the rest of the day. Only when the coast became swampy and impassable did they return inland. There were no other disturbances after this and they made very good time. When they reached the now-familiar outer reaches of the city Kerrick called a stop.

“We will go back to the last stream we crossed. Get rid of the meat bags and wash again.”

“We will eat all the meat we can first.”

“Yes, of course. Then go on in the afternoon.” Harl frowned at this, seemed displeased. “There is a good reason to wait. The murgu in the city do not move around at night. If they are near the death-stick pens they will leave in time to be well back inside the city by dark. If we reach there at dusk we can get the death-sticks and find our way out even if it is after nightfall. Can that be done?”

“If I see a track by day I can walk it by night. It shall be as you say, sammadar.”

By midafternoon, their leather garments still wet and cool against their skin, they penetrated the outer wall of the city. Kerrick went first, cutting and pushing aside the poisonous plants and thorns. Once past this barrier he whispered instructions to Harl who now led the way. Slower and slower, crawling the last distance to the earthen wall of the pen. Harl went on himself, then waved Kerrick forward.

“There is no one here, no tracks since the last rain.”

“I still want to stay out of sight until it is darker. We can use these vines to make nets to carry the death-sticks.”

It was near dusk when Harl pulled himself up onto the earthen wall, looked around and beckoned Kerrick forward. The hèsotsan were thick in the shallow water below and on the sandy bank. Kerrick threw clods down to chase the active ones away, then jumped down into the pit. There were hèsotsan close by on the sand, feebly moving their legs and unable to escape.

“These are the ones we want,” he said. “I’ll hand them up to you.”

He passed up as many as they could carry easily, then took Harl’s hand and pulled himself out. The hèsotsan hissed weakly when they were bound and tried to snap at their fingers. It was quickly done. They slung the bundled creatures over their shoulders and seized up their weapons.

“We have done it!” Kerrick said, already feeling the tension drain away. “Now — let’s get out of here.”

Harl led the way in an easy lope, back along the track they had followed when they had entered the city.

As he came around the end of the embankment there was the sharp crack of a hèsotsan and he collapsed. Dead before he hit the ground.