“You will eat,” Ulfadan said when they were alone.
“The hospitality of Ulfadan is talked about in the tents of the Tanu from the sea to the mountains.”
The formal words did not quite match the generosity of the portion, a few flakes of dried fish smelling very strongly of age. The winter was long and spring far distant yet. There would be hunger in the tents before it came.
Herilak drained the last drops of liquid with noisy appreciation, and eyen managed to summon up a belch to show how rich the meal had been. He knew that he should now talk about hunting, the weather, the migrating herds, and only much later reach the point of his visit. But this slow and time-consuming custom was changing as well.
“The mother of the wife of my first son is the wife of Amahast,” Herilak said. Ulfadan nodded in agreement, for this fact was known to him. All of the sammads in these mountain valleys were linked by marriage in one way or another. “I have been to the camping place of Amahast’s sammad and the place is empty.” Ulfadan nodded at this as well.
“They went south last spring, their path always taking them down this valley. It was seen that half of their mastodons had died. It was a bad winter.”
“It is known that now it is always a bad winter.”
Ulfadan grunted in unhappy agreement. “They did not return after that.”
Herilak turned the thought over in his head, tracing in his mind the trail down through the valleys to the flatlands, then eastward to the sea. “They went then to the sea?”
“Each year now they go the encampment by the river at the sea.”
“But this year they did not return.” There was no answer to that other than silent agreement. Something had happened that they did not know about. Perhaps the sammad had found a different winter camp; more than one sammad had been destroyed by cold and their encampments were empty. There was that possibility. There was the greater possibility that something far worse had happened about which they knew nothing.
“The days are short,” Herilak said, climbing to his feet. “And the way is long.”
Ulfadan rose as well and seized the big hunter’s arms in his hands in a gesture of appreciation. “It is a long and lonely way to the sea in winter. May Ermanpadar guide your path all of the way.”
There was nothing more to be said. Herilak pulled his furs tight about him again and once more pointed his spear to the south. It was only after he had reached the plains that he went faster, for the snow here was frozen and hard. Winter was his only enemy now for the ice-bound land was empty of life. Only once in his many days of walking did he see a greatdeer, and this was a thin and wretched creature pursued by a small pack of starving longtooths. He saw them moving across the plain in his direction. There was a low rise here with a stand of leafless trees upon it and Herilak stopped beside them to watch.
The wretched greatdeer was weakening, its flanks torn and dripping with blood. It stumbled to a halt when it reached the slope, too winded to run any further, and turned at bay. The starving longtooths came in from all sides, heedless of danger with the smell of warm blood in their nostrils. One of them was caught by the dagger-pointed horns and tossed aside. But this was the opportunity the leader needed to spring in and hamstring the greatdeer, tearing at its hindlegs. Bellowing, the creature fell and the end was upon it. The leader, a great black creature with a thick ruff of hair about its throat and chest, drew back as though to let the others eat first. There would be enough for all.
When it moved aside it became aware for the first time of watching eyes. With wild instinct it knew it was being observed. It rose growling and looked straight up the hill at Herilak, its gaze meeting his. Then it crouched and moved in his direction, halfway up the hill, coming so close that Herilak could look into the unblinking yellow of its eyes.