“Shorter—but we will not be able to see the water. They could pass by and we would not know. We must stay by the river.”
As they looked south they became aware of a cloud on the horizon that billowed upwards. It grew while they watched, puzzled, for they had never seen a cloud like that before.
“What is it?” Sigurnath asked.
“Dust,” Peremandu said, for he was known for his keen sight. “A cloud of dust. Maybe the duck-bills, a large herd.”
“As long as we have hunted them I have never seen a thing like this. It is too big, too wide—and it grows.”
They watched as the cloud of dust came closer, until the animals could be seen running before it. A very large herd indeed. There were some of them out ahead of the pack and Peremandu shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to make them out.
“They are murgu!” he cried in sudden horror. “Death-stick murgu. Run!”
They ran, back along the river bank, clearly visible in the knee-high grass. There were harsh cries behind them, the thunder of heavy feet and sudden sharp snapping sounds.
Sigurnath reared up, fell, and Peremandu had only a quick glimpse of the dart that sprouted suddenly from the back of his neck.
There was no escape on the plain. Sigurnath veered left, dirt crumbled from under his feet. He fell from the high bank, turned as he dropped, then hit the water far below.
The two great beasts slowed and stopped at the edge of the bank and their two Yilanè riders climbed down from their high saddles to look down at the muddy river. There was nothing visible. They stood, motionless, for a long time. Then the first one turned and led the way back to the tarakast.
“Report to Vaintè,” she said. “Tell her we have come upon two ustuzou. They are both dead. The rest of them will not know of our presence. We will fall upon them just as she has planned.”
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The distant shouts brought Kerrick suddenly awake, staring into the darkness of the tent. Armun was disturbed as well, murmuring something in her sleep as she moved the warm flesh of her body against his. The shouting was louder now: Kerrick pulled away from her, groped for his clothing among the furs.
When he threw back the tentflap he saw the group of hunters running towards him. They were carrying torches and two of them were dragging a dark shape. It was another hunter, limp and unmoving. Herilak ran on ahead of the others.
“They’re coming,” he called out, and Kerrick felt the hair stir on the back of his neck.
“It is Peremandu,” Herilak said. “He ran all day, most of this night as well.”
Peremandu was conscious, but completely exhausted. They carried him to Kerrick, his toes trailing in the dust, then sat him gently on the ground. In the flickering light of the torches his skin was pale: sooty patches ringed his eyes.
“Coming…” he said hoarsely. “Behind me… Sigurnath, dead.”
“Are there guards at the river?” Kerrick asked, and Peremandu shook his head weakly when he heard the words.
“Not on the water. Land.”
“Run,” Herilak ordered the hunters who had carried Peremandu. “Wake everyone. Get the sammadars here.”
Armun slipped out of the tent and bent over Peremandu, holding a cup of water to his mouth. He drained it greedily, gasping with the effort. His words came a bit more easily now.
“We watched the river—but they came by land. First a dust cloud bigger than anything we had ever seen. There were murgu, they could not be counted, running fast, heavy feet, death-stick murgu on their backs. The murgu also rode another kind, bigger, faster, scouting ahead. When we ran they saw us. Killed Sigurnath. I went into the river, holding my breath, as long as I could. Swimming deep, with the current. When I came up they were gone. I stayed in the water a long time.”
The sammadars hurried up while he was talking, while more and more hunters gathered silently to listen. The torchlight flickered across their grim faces.