Armun did not like it when he spoke of these things because of the strange sounds he made and the jerking motions of his body. She turned away but he called to her.

“There, do you see the dry stream bed where it runs into the ocean? That is where we will land, where we will meet again. Steer for the shore, Kalaleq. This is the right place, it is close — but still outside the barriers that surround the city.”

The shore here was mud and sand, carried down from the hills during the rainy season. They grounded on a sandbank, gently rocked by the ripple of the tiny waves.

“We will stay here most of the night,” Kerrick said. “But we must leave while it is still dark. Armun, you will stay behind and wait until there is enough light before you try to climb.”

“I can go in the dark,” Armun said.

“No, it is too dangerous. There will be enough time. What you must do is climb up there until you are above the city. Make everything ready as I have told you.”

“Dry wood for a large fire, green leaves for smoke.”

“Yes, but do not put on the leaves until the sun is two hands above the ocean. The fire must be large and hot with white-hot coals. At the proper time all of the leaves must be put on, to burn and smoke. As soon as you have done that you must come back here. Quickly — but not so quickly that you fall. Kalaleq will be waiting. I will come along the shore and join you as soon as I can. Is everything understood?”

“I feel that this is all madness and I am filled with fear.”

“Don’t be. It is going to go just as I planned. If you do your part I will be safe. But you must do it at the right time, neither earlier nor later. Is that understood?”

“Yes, I understand.” He was distant from her then, his voice so cold, thinking like a murgu — and acting like one as well. He wanted only obedience. He would have it — if only to get this over and done with. The world was a lonely place.

She dozed fitfully in the rocking boat, waking to hear Kalaleq’s rasping snores, then dozing again. Kerrick could not sleep but lay, open-eyed, staring up at the slowly wheeling stars. The morning star would rise soon, and after that it would be dawn. By nightfall this work would be done. He might not be alive to see the end of the day, he knew that. He would be taking an immense risk and victory was not as certain as he had assured Armun. For a moment he wished that they were back on that frozen coast, safe in the paukaruts of the Paramutan, away from all danger. He brushed the thought aside, remembering, as though it had happened to another person, the darkness that had held his thoughts for so long. There were too many people inside his head. He was Yilanè and Tanu, sammadar and leader in battle. He had burnt Alpèasak, then tried to save it, lost it again to the Yilanè. Then he had fled from everything — and now he knew that he could flee from nothing. Everything was inside his head. What he was doing was the right thing, the only thing.

The sammads had to be saved — and in this entire world he was the only one who could do it. All of his efforts, everything he had ever done, had led him to this place, to this city at this time. What must be done would be done. The stars lifted above the horizon and he turned to waken the others.

Armun waded ashore in silence. She had so much to say that it was easier to say nothing. She stood knee-deep in the sea, clutching the fire-box to her, watching as the dark shape of the boat moved silently away. The moon had set and the starlight was not bright enough to reveal his face. Then they were gone, a black blur in the greater darkness. She turned and waded wearily ashore.

“Oh we are dead, dead,” Kalaleq muttered between his chattering teeth. “Consumed by these giant murgu.”

“There is nothing to fear. They do not move at night. Now put me ashore for it is almost dawn. You know what you are to do?”

“I know, I have been told.”

“I will tell you again, just to be sure. Are you sure the ularuaq poison will kill one of these creatures?”

“They are dead. They are no bigger than a ularuaq. My stab is sure death.”

“Then do it, swiftly, as soon as I am ashore. Kill them — but just two of them, no more. Be sure of that because it is most important. Two of them must die.”

“They die. Now go — go!”

The boat moved swiftly away even before Kerrick had reached dry sand. The morning star was bright on the horizon, the first gray of dawn below it. Now was the time. He took off his hide coverings, the wrappings from his feet, until all that remained was a soft leather breechclout. His spear was still in the boat, he was unarmed. He touched the metal knife that hung about his neck, but it had no edge, was just an ornament.

Shoulders back and head high, limbs curved slightly into the arrogance of superiority, completely alone, he strode forward into the Yilanè city of Ikhalmenets .

The loud shouts woke Lanefenuu, sending her into an instant fury. The transparent disc in the wall of her sleeping chamber was barely lit; it must just be dawn. And who dared to make those sounds in her ambesed! It was the sound of attention-to-speaking, loud and arrogant. She was on her feet in the instant, tearing great gouges from the matted flooring with her claws as she stamped her way out of the chamber.

A single Yilanè stood in the center of the ambesed, of strange color, deformed. When she saw Lanefenuu appear she called out, muffled by her lack of tail.

“Lanefenuu, Eistaa of Ikhalmenets, step forward. I will talk with you.”

The insult of the form of address; Lanefenuu was roaring with rage. Sunlight spread across the ground and she stopped in her tracks, tail lifted with surprise. The Yilanè could speak — but it was no Yilanè.

“Ustuzou! Here?”

“I am Kerrick. Of great strength and great anger.”

Lanefenuu walked slowly forward, numb with disbelief. It was an ustuzou, pallid of skin, fur around its middle, fur on its head and face, empty-handed, glowing metal around its neck. The ustuzou Kerrick as Vaintè had described it.

“I have come with a warning,” the ustuzou said, arrogance and insult in its mode of address. Lanefenuu’s crest flared with her instant anger.

“Warning? To me? You ask only for death, ustuzou.”

She strode forward, menace in every movement, but stopped when he framed certainty-of-destruction.

“I bring only death and pain, Eistaa. The death is here already and more will come if you do not listen to that which I will tell you. Death doubled. Death twice.”

There was sudden motion at the ambesed entrance and they both looked at the hurrying Yilanè who appeared, mouth gaping wide with the heat of her rapid movements.

“Death,” the newcomer said, with the same controllers of urgency and strength that Kerrick had used. Lanefenuu was crushed back onto her tail, numbed by shock, silent while the Yilanè shaped what she had to say.

“Sent by Muruspe — urgency of message. The uruketo she commands — death. It is dead. Suddenly dead in the night. And another uruketo. Dead. Two dead.”

Lanefenuu’s cry of pain cut the air. She who had commanded an uruketo herself, who had spent her life with and for the great creatures, whose city boasted more and better uruketo than any other. Now. Two of them. Dead. She turned in pain, twisted by pain, to look at the great carving of the uruketo above her, of her likeness high on its fin. Two dead. What had the ustuzou said? She turned slowly to face the terrible creature.

“Two dead,” Kerrick said again with the grimmest of controllers. “Now we will talk, Eistaa.”