There was something there, something big, moving between the large boulders. Nenne fitted the spear to his spear-thrower, stretched it out along his arm.
The Kargu scrambled into view. He must be tired for he paused often to rest. Nenne watched, unmoving, until he was sure that this one was alone. The place where he stood guard had been chosen because it commanded the trail below. Anyone entering the valley here must pass by him. As soon as he was sure that there were no others following the Kargu, Nenne dropped silently from the ledge.
There was the sound of sliding rocks, then the slow thud of running feet. The hunter passed between the tall pillars of stone that stood like sentries at the top of the cutting. As soon as he had passed Nenne jumped out and slammed the butt of his spear hard into the interloper’s back. The Kargu screamed hoarsely and fell. Nenne stepped on his wrist then kicked the other’s spear away, pushed the point of his own spear into the filthy furs that covered the Kargu’s stomach.
“Your kind are not permitted in the valley.”
A twist of the spearpoint made the message clear. The Kargu glared up at him, dark eyes framed by his matted beard and hair.
“I go through… to hills after,” he said thickly.
“You go back. Or you stay here forever.”
“Faster going through. To other sammads.”
“You came here to steal, nothing else. Your kind do not pass through our valley, you must know that. Why are you trying to do that now?”
Reluctantly and clumsily the Kargu told him why.
The porro was finished and Kerrick was glad of it. It had done strange things to his head. Whether they were good or bad things, he wasn’t sure. He stood and stretched, then went outside the picture-filled cavern where Herilak joined him. They watched as Sanone led the manduktos in solemn procession to the newborn mastodon calf where it rested on a bed of straw. They chanted in unison and Sanone rubbed red pigment onto the creature’s tiny trunk. Its mother did not appear to be concerned by the attention; she chewed calmly on a green branch. Kerrick was about to speak when moving figures at the riverbank drew his attention. One of them, with dark hair and dressed in furs, had to be a Kargu, and he wondered at his presence here. He knew that the hunters came sometimes to trade, but this one was empty-handed; the Sasku walking behind him carried two spears. He jabbed the Kargu with one of them and pointed towards Sanone, ordering the hunter in that direction.
“What is it?” Herilak asked. “What is happening?”
“I don’t know. Let me listen.”
“This one came into the valley,” Nenne said. “I brought him to you, Sanone, for you to hear what he has to say.” He prodded with the spear again. “Speak. What you told me.”
The Kargu looked around, scowling, rubbing the sweat from his face with a filthy hand, smearing the dirt there even more.
“I was in the hills, hunting alone,” he said reluctantly. “All night by a waterhole. Deer never came. Went back to the tents this morning. All dead.”
A cold premonition seized Kerrick as Sanone spoke. “Dead? Your sammad? What happened to them?”
“Dead. Arderidh the sammadar, no head.” He made a swiping motion across his throat with his finger. “No spear, no arrow. All dead. Just these.”
He dug inside his furs and took out a folded scrap of leather and opened it slowly. Kerrick knew as he unwrapped it, knew what he would see there.
Small, pointed, feathered.
Darts from a hèsotsan.
“They have followed! They are here!”
Herilak bellowed the words aloud, a roar of mighty pain. His fist lashed out and smote the Kargu’s arm so hard that the hunter screeched in pain. The darts fell to the ground and Herilak ground them underfoot.
The Sasku looked on in amazement, unable to understand, and Sanone looked to Kerrick for some explanation. But Kerrick felt the same mixture of black anger and fear as Herilak did. He drew in a shuddering breath and forced out the words.