Kerrick had just finished eating the preserved meat and was wiping the grease from his fingers onto his furs when the door opened again. But this was no wide-eyed fargi; a Yilanè of age and substance entered and looked at him with signs of doubt and suspicion. Esspelei stood in a position of subservience and he copied her at once. The newcomer was heavy of jowl, her thick arms painted with a pattern of whorls even here in this crude place so far from the cities. She was very much in control of the situation. Fafnege, still armed with her hèsotsan entered behind her, also signing respect for her rank. Kerrick knew that this one would not be as easy to fool as the others. She examined his face closely with one eye, while at the same time looked him carefully up and down with the other.

“What is this piece of ustuzou filth? What is it doing here?”

“Lowest Esspelei to highest Aragunukto,” Esspelei writhed humbly, “the hunter found it in the forest. It is yilanè.”

“Is it? Are you?” An imperious order that Kerrick answered with all signs of deference.

“It is my pleasure to speak and not be dumb like other ustuzou.”

“Tear off those repellent coverings — the beast is difficult to understand.”

Esspelei hurried forward and Kerrick made no protest, stood with humble submission as she cut away his furs with her string knife. He was bleeding from a number of cuts before his clothing lay tumbled on the floor.

“Pink-ugly, disgusting,” Aragunukto said. “And obviously a male. Admit no fargi lest the sight of this one generate unacceptable thoughts. Turn! I knew it, no tail either. I have seen pictures of your kind, safely dead, in far-away sea-girt Ikhalmenets. How did it get here?”

“It fell from an uruketo during a storm, swam ashore,” Esspelei said. She said it as a fact; since he had spoken of it it must be a fact. Aragunukto’s features clouded with anger.

“When could this have happened? It is my certain knowledge that there is only one Yilanè ustuzou and that it has escaped and is feral. Are you that same ustuzou?”

“I am, great one. I was recaptured, sent in an uruketo across the ocean, then washed overboard.”

“What uruketo? Who commanded? Who captured you?”

Kerrick was becoming tangled in his own web of lies. Aragunukto was too shrewd to fool — but there was no way out now.

“This knowledge is not mine. I was struck on the head, a storm, night…”

Aragunukto turned away and signed Fafnege for attention-to-orders. “This creature of disgust speaks like it is Yilanè. It is not. There are shadows in its speaking that reveal its ustuzou nature. I feel dirtied by this communication. Kill it, Fafnege, and let us be done with it.”

With gestures of satisfaction and happiness Fafnege raised her hèsotsan, aimed it.

“No, you have no reason,” Kerrick called out hoarsely. But the order had been given, would be obeyed. He jumped sideways, away from the weapon, stumbled against the shocked scientist at his side. In an agony of fear he seized her heavy arms and pulled her before him, crouching so her body shielded him from any dart. “I can help you, give important information!”

But they could not understand him, for they could hear only the sound of his voice; because Esspelei’s solid body blocked any view of his limbs.

“Kill it! Instantly — instantly!” Aragunukto raged.

Fafnege crouched, weapon ready, stalking him like a wild prey. Esspelei was struggling, breaking away. Once his body was exposed he was dead. He glanced over the scientist’s shoulder as he felt her break his grip and fall forward. Saw the door opening.

Saw the shocked, brown-furred face of a Paramutan appear there.

“Kill the one with the death-stick,” Kerrick screamed aloud, his body exposed now to the raised weapon.

Even as he spoke he realized that he had called out in Marbak. He hurled himself to the floor as the hèsotsan snapped loudly. The dart came so close to his face that he felt the breath of its passage. Fafnege watched him fall, moved the weapon to follow him.

“What is happening?” Kalaleq cried out.

Fafnege spun about at the sound of his voice. Kerrick found the Paramutan words.

“Kill! The one with the stick!”

Kalaleq’s was the arm that sank the deadly harpoon into the giant ularuaq, now he hurled his spear with the same precision, the same strength. Catching Fafnege in the midriff, doubling her over with the force of the blow. The hèsotsan fired its dart into the floor as she fell.

Niumak surged through the entrance, his spear ready, Armun right behind him. Kerrick was starting to rise as she ran toward him.

“Don’t — not that one!” he cried. Too late. Esspelei screamed in pain, clutched at Armun’s spear where it had been thrust into her neck, fell still screaming out bubbles of blood, died.

“She was a scientist, I wanted to talk to her,” he said weakly, looking about. Armun had wrenched her spear free, turned to protect him.

But there was no need. Aragunukto was dead as well, Kalaleq turning from her body. The Paramutan was panting with emotion, his eyes blood red. “More?” he asked. “Are there more?”

“Yes, in the other structures. But…”

They were gone before he could even begin to explain about fargi. Tiredly he picked up his cut furs, looked at them. Armun touched soft fingers to the blood upon his skin, spoke quietly.

“When you did not come back I was heavy with fear. The Paramutan too. Niumak tracked you, found your spear, found the place where your prints joined those of the murgu. Then followed them here. Did they wound you?”

“No. Just these small cuts. Nothing more.”

As he pulled the dismembered furs together he tried to assemble his thoughts as well. By now the Yilanè would all be dead. So be it. Aragunukto had ordered his death simply because she did not like the way he spoke. Once again it was only death; peace was unthinkable. Perhaps it was better this way. He looked up as Kalaleq came back in, panting, his spear bloodied, blood drenching his hand and arm.

“What strange and horrible creatures! How they wriggled and screamed and died on our spears.”

“All dead?” Armun asked.

“All. We went into each of these big paukaruts and found them and speared them. Some ran, but they died as well.”

“Here is what must be done,” Kerrick said, forcing himself to think, to plan. “We must leave no trace of our presence here. If the murgu even suspect that we are on this side of the ocean they will seek us out and kill us.”

“Put the bodies into the ocean,” Kalaleq said practically. “Wipe up blood.”

“Will others come?” Armun asked.

“Yes, in their boats that swim, the dock is here. If they find them all missing it will be a mystery — but we will not be suspected. Take nothing, disturb nothing.”

“Want nothing!” Kalaleq cried out, shaking his spear. “Nothing that these things have. We must carefully wash their blood from our spears or we will have the worst bad fortune. You spoke of how terrible and strong and different these murgu were, and I marveled. But you did not tell me how I would tremble with anger and hatred at sight of them. This is a very strange thing and I do not like it. Into the ocean with them, then we return to pleasure of cold north.”

No, south… Kerrick thought, but did not speak the words aloud. This was not the proper moment. But he did turn to look at the chart one last time before he left. Reached out and touched it lightly just over the irregular dark green circle set into the light green sea. Sea-girt Ikhalmenets.

Armun saw his body writhe with the name and she took him by the arm. “We must leave. Come.”

Darkness had fallen before they were done. The sea received the bodies and the blood-stained fragments of his furs. The tide was on the ebb; the corpses would be carried out to sea. The fish would take care of the evidence.